by Betty Neels
Eloise laughed. It was of course quite the wrong thing to do, but she couldn’t help herself and it was better to do that than burst into tears or go running to Timon. She said in a reasonable voice: ‘I’m not, you know. Mijnheer Pringle and I were invited to dinner, that’s all.’
‘Bah, I do not believe you! Where is his car if he is here, and I do not see him, nor do I believe you—you are here alone with Timon.’ Her voice had risen. ‘I have told him…I will not allow…’
Eloise got out of her chair. ‘Oh, do be quiet,’ she begged. ‘How you do carry on… Timon is a man to do exactly what he wants and when he wants to do it nothing you say is going to make any difference to that. You really are a little fool.’
The other girl turned to face her across the lovely room. ‘I am no fool, and that you will discover! Timon will believe anything I choose to say to him. I shall tell him…never mind that…I shall marry him also, and you can go back to England and stay there.’
Eloise wanted very much to shout back at the tiresome girl, but she managed to keep her voice low and steady. ‘No, I don’t think I’ll do that,’ she said slowly. ‘I think I shall stay here and make sure that you don’t have him. You are a petty, selfish girl, you deserve nothing and no one, because I don’t think you have any idea what loving means. You’re something under a stone…’ She stopped because the look on Liske’s face was pure triumph, and before she could turn her head, the girl had broken into Dutch, her voice sweet and coaxing now, and Eloise had no idea of what she was saying, although she could hear that it was eloquent and pleading and appealing.
When she did turn her head at last, Timon was there, standing by the door, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. There was no expression on his face, but she knew that he was angry, although when he spoke his voice was level and quiet. ‘Did you really say that, Eloise?’ he asked, and when she didn’t answer:
‘That Liske was a trollop?’ his mouth twitched a little, ‘and a harpy? that she is cruel and selfish and something under a stone?’
‘I said that she was something under a stone; she’s got the rest wrong. I’m the harpy and the trollop…’
He ignored that. ‘Why should you provoke her? She is upset, you can see that for yourself, you who are usually so sensible. And in the circumstances, that is natural enough. You should not have added to her distress, you had no need to be cruel, nor,’ his voice was cold, ‘did you need to interfere in my affairs—I prefer to manage them for myself.’
Eloise watched him across the room and proffer a handkerchief to Liske. She wasn’t at all sure that she knew what he was talking about—why should Liske be distressed anyway? The girl was putting on a splendid show, sobbing in a picturesque manner and throwing herself into his arms. Eloise would have liked to have done that herself.
He said over his shoulder, ‘You could have waited, Eloise; I would have explained, for I have a great deal to tell you, but you can see for yourself that at the moment that is impossible. Could you not have been generous?’
Eloise was standing with her mouth open, trying to understand, watching the doctor’s face. Her eye caught a faint movement from Liske as he was speaking; the girl wasn’t crying at all, she was smiling at her over his shoulder. Eloise felt sick. She went through the door like a breath of wind, whisked her coat from the chair where it had been cast when she had arrived, and opened the front door. To get away, and fast, was the only thought in her mind. She closed the heavy door behind her and plunged down the drive, only then realising that it was drizzling with rain and the wind was blowing a gale.
But it would have taken more than bad weather to send her back now. Let Timon console Liske; he deserved her—she swallowed tears. He hadn’t minded that Liske had called her names. Perhaps he hadn’t believed her; he hadn’t wanted to know her side of the horrid little affair, he had even asked her to be generous. ‘He’s mad,’ she shouted above the wind, ‘and I hate him!’ The strength of her feelings carried her down the drive and out into the lane.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WIND had become a mini-hurricane, tearing over the rolling countryside, hitting at her with giant hands, flattening her against its strength. For a moment she considered going back, but then the wind would be at her back and she would be bowled over—besides, she never wanted to see Timon again. She kept plodding on, tears, of which she was quite unconscious, pouring down her sopping cheeks. What, she asked herself, did it matter if this vile wind knocked her down, concussed her, even broke a limb—a leg or an arm, she decided, for then she would remain conscious to see Timon’s remorse, although on second thoughts he wasn’t likely to show remorse at all, only rage at the inconvenience, or worse than that, indifference.
She paused to gather some of the breath being bludgeoned out of her body. He had a nasty temper, but she could have managed him—she smiled a sad little smile through her tears and fought her way into the wind once more. It would be pitch dark soon; it was dark now and she felt sure that the sky she could no longer see was thunderous, but she reckoned that she was more than halfway to the main road by now and surely once there, there would be a bus. Luckily she had her purse in her coat pocket. Where she would go didn’t seem important at the moment. She looked around her, although there was nothing to see by this time, just the faint glimmer of the road before her. She wasn’t a nervous girl, but she had a nasty feeling that something was going to happen.
A moment later there was an uncanny lull in the wind, prelude to a flash of lightning which almost stopped her heart and a peal of thunder which crashed and banged round the wide horizon until she was deafened. And as though that wasn’t enough, it began to rain in good earnest, a hard, cold deluge which soaked her in seconds. She came to a standstill; she had always hated storms, and now, alone in the dark and with no place to hide, she panicked. It was silly to shout for help, because who would hear above the howl of the returning wind and the noise of the rain? But shout she did, to no effect at all, for the wind took the sound the moment she opened her mouth. The roar of it filled her ears too, so that when she was caught roughly by the shoulders and swung round to be held fast in Timon’s fierce grip, she screamed at the top of her voice. Another flash of lightning did nothing to reassure her, either; what did bring her to her senses was the vigorous shaking the doctor was giving her. She couldn’t see his face, but his already strong grip became iron-fast as he turned her round again and, by the light of his torch, hurried her off the road, over a narrow stone bridge, to squelch over a muddy field which, for all she knew, might be full of fierce bulls.
She was half running in his hold, terrified out of her wits still and still finding time to marvel that he was there. Now she could stop being frightened, although from the cruel grip with which he was holding her, he was probably just as much to be frightened of as the storm. He was going at a fine pace, seemingly oblivious of the fact that Eloise was now really running to keep up with him. He seemed to know where he was going, though, as indeed she discovered very shortly when a building of some sort was lighted by his torch; she couldn’t see precisely what it was; only when Timon had swung back its still solid door did she see that it had once been a cottage, a very humble one, with the thatch above their heads in a sorry state and great cracks in its walls, but still blessed shelter.
Timon banged the door shut, shone his torch around the place and then turned it on to Eloise. ‘Little fool,’ he said furiously, ‘have you run mad? Take off that wet coat—how anyone could be so…’ He muttered in Dutch and she was glad that she couldn’t see his face as she meekly struggled out of the sopping garment.
There was a fireplace of sorts against one wall. He walked over to it, turned over the ash and charred wood in it with one foot and looked around him. There was wood enough; one or two broken chairs, a smashed table, a couple of boxes—Timon collected them, broke up the boxes and kindled a fire with his lighter, and without looking at Eloise once, began breaking up the wrecked table and chairs. S
urprisingly, the table, once on the fire, blazed merrily, sending light if not warmth round the miserable little place, defying the violent flashes of lightning flaring at the broken window.
Eloise, out of her coat, squelched over to the fire. She was wet through to her skin, with chattering teeth and a tear-stained white face which luckily she couldn’t see. She steadied her teeth long enough to say: ‘How clever of you to make a fire so quickly,’ and at once had her head snapped off with: ‘Clever? If I were clever I would shake you until your teeth rattled!’ He smiled thinly and broke a chair leg over his knee and threw it on to the fire with a force which she supposed he would have liked to have used on her, remarking silkily: ‘They’re rattling now, aren’t they? And serve you right!’
She could only see his profile, sharp with his rage. ‘How dared you?’ he asked.
‘It’s none of your business what I dare,’ she snapped. Her nerves were fiddlestrings by now and her whole shivering chest trembled with its weight of unshed tears.
He peeled off his Burberry and tossed it into a corner, taking no notice of her words at all. ‘Have you any idea of the trouble you have caused? Bart is beside himself, so is Mevrouw Metz, and the maids are snivelling in corners—just because you chose to walk out into the storm for some childish reason or other.’
Her white face had gone even whiter. He had called hers a childish reason, and that meant that he didn’t care at all that Liske had called her names; a designing trollop, she remembered. Perhaps he thought of her like that too. She edged a little nearer the fire and wished with all her heart that she had managed to reach the main road and was on a bus, miles away.
‘Why did you come after me, then?’ she asked woodenly.
He gave the fire a savage kick and said in a goaded voice: ‘My dear girl, with the entire staff incapable of behaving sensibly until you were found, I had no choice.’
‘Did Liske…was she worried too?’
He shot her a surprised glance. ‘Liske? Surely you don’t expect her to worry about you? She went home before I left the house.’
It was annoying of him not to say more, for she wanted very much to know just what had happened after she had left. She could imagine Liske weaving some pretty tale in which she was the injured, innocent party. Eloise unpinned her hair and started to wring it out in a hopeless sort of way. It really didn’t matter what Timon thought of her now. Liske was determined to have him and if he was silly enough to be taken in by the wretched girl, then good luck to him. Eloise scowled horribly, choked on something which sounded very much like a small sob and said meekly: ‘Oh, I see,’ which meant just anything, and then asked: ‘What shall we do?’ She let out the ghost of a scream too at an extra vivid flash of lightning.
‘Stay here, of course, until the storm has worn itself out sufficiently for us to get back.’
‘Will that be long, do you think?’
‘Probably all night.’ They were standing side by side, steaming before the fire.
‘If you want to go back,’ she offered in a small voice, ‘I shall be quite all right here.’
He looked down at her. ‘My dear Eloise, should I return without you, I should be torn limb from limb; you seem to have cast a spell over the lot of them.’ He put out a hand and touched her cheek lightly. ‘Why did you have to behave as you did? Why did you have to interfere?’
She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t interfered; that she hadn’t behaved badly at all, but what would be the use? He was hardly likely to believe her. Oh, he would answer her courteously enough, no doubt, but she would have no chance against Liske’s clever lies. And what was she supposed to be interfering about? Coming between him and Liske? Trying to turn him from her? Liske would have told him that, of course. She tried to forget the touch of his hand on her face and said crossly:
‘Well, what did you expect? I have an interfering nature.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ he remarked surprisingly, ‘but that makes no difference. But it didn’t seem like you, to be unkind and ungenerous.’
He gave her a questioning look and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to start from the beginning and explain, but pride wouldn’t let her; she stared back at him, her ordinary features screwed into defiance, so that he looked away presently, saying blandly: ‘Well, for the moment there is nothing more to be said, is there? Take off your shoes and stockings and put them before the fire.’ He added, almost irritably: ‘Why do you not plait your hair? It would at least be out of the way.’
She obeyed without a word and then went to pick up their coats and arrange them close to the fire before sitting down on a rickety stool he had found in some corner or other. There seemed no more to be said. She sat silent, gradually getting warm once more, and presently, her hands clasped round her knees, she let her tired head drop and dozed off.
She was awakened by his hand on her arm. His voice, calmly impersonal, pierced her brain, clouded with sleep. ‘The storm’s over and the wind is a great deal less. We’re going back, Eloise.’
She struggled into her shoes and stockings and put on the still damp coat and tied a bedraggled scarf from its pocket over her hair without saying a word. She had no idea how long she had been asleep. Not that it mattered—really, nothing mattered. She watched him stamp out the last few embers of the fire and went with him to the door, where she discovered that the wind was only a little less than it had been, although the rain, still falling, had turned to a drizzle again. She thanked heaven that they would have the elements behind them as they returned and then winced at a pale flicker of lightning on the horizon. The doctor didn’t speak at all but took her arm, and with the torch in his hand strode along, taking her with him, and big girl though she was, she had a job to keep up with him.
They seemed to walk for a long time and when they reached the lane it was almost as mushy underfoot as the field had been. But Eloise was past caring; she hardly noticed the windblown drizzle trickling down the back of her neck, her scarf was long since sodden once more, but she didn’t notice that either; she was far too busy wondering what would happen next. She would be going to England in the morning, anyway, presumably under a cloud and with the memory of the doctor’s anger remaining with her for the rest of her days. She had no liking for women who burst into tears for little or no reason; she told herself this as tears began to run down her cheeks; she hadn’t cried so much in years, but since the gale blowing them along was quite deafening, there was no need to check them. She sobbed gently, sucking in her breath like a small child, catching the tears with the tip of her tongue and sniffing from time to time, feeling a great relief from it. By the time they reached the house she would be herself again and able to face whatever was going to happen next.
What did happen next took her quite by surprise. Her companion came to an abrupt halt, swung her round to face him and stared down at her frowningly through the dark, shouting above the wind: ‘What are you crying for? You have been sniffing and sobbing for the last five minutes—I find it disturbing.’
She gave a watery snort. ‘Then don’t listen.’
He had produced a spotless and dry handkerchief from a pocket and begun to mop her face. ‘Tomorrow,’ he told her, suddenly gentle, ‘we will have a talk—there is a great deal I have to say to you. You must see that being cruel to Liske was impossible. I have already been cruel enough…’
He kissed her suddenly, put the handkerchief away and walked her on once more, faster than ever. She was still gathering her wits when they turned in at the gates and started up the drive. As they rounded the curve she could see that almost every light was on in the house, and someone must have been watching for them, for the great door was open long before they reached it, with Bart on the porch and Mevrouw Metz hovering behind him.
Eloise was a little hazy after that; a great many people surrounded her, shook her hand, patted her shoulders, poured out long speeches in Dutch and took her wet things from her. They were only stopped by the doctor’s voice tel
ling her to go upstairs with Mevrouw Metz. She pulled herself together then, protesting that she had to go back to Mijnheer Pringle.
‘You’ll stay here, have a hot bath and go straight to bed. I’ll telephone Cor now. And just for once, do as you’re told, Eloise,’ begged the doctor in a voice which didn’t beg at all but expected to be obeyed. She was considering a retort to this when she sneezed, a signal for her to bustle up to the room where she had slept before, undressed and put into a steaming bath, clothed in a voluminous nightie of Mevrouw Metz’ and popped into bed with a glass of some hot, pungent mixture which the housekeeper offered her with encouraging clucks and nods. The haziness returned after that and merged almost at once into sleep.
She awoke the next morning feeling none the worse for her adventure. True, her head ached and she had the beginnings of a sore throat, but she had no intention of telling anyone about that, and when Mevrouw Metz brought her breakfast tray, Bart, hovering discreetly in the doorway, informed her in his careful English that the doctor had gone out to an emergency case and wished her to remain where she was until he returned.
‘But I’m going back to England later this morning,’ she protested.
Bart nodded smilingly. ‘Yes, miss, but the doctor wishes you to stay; he has, I understand, something important to discuss with you.’
No ‘will you’ or ‘do you mind’, reflected Eloise crossly. Well, she wasn’t going to play doormat for anyone, and why should he wish her to stay in the first place? So that she might apologise to Liske who had been treated so cruelly? Well, she wouldn’t, but to refuse point-blank wouldn’t do; she had only to look at the two elderly faces looking at her so intently. ‘Oh, well, in that case,’ she told them airily, ‘there’s no more to be said, but I simply must go to Mijnheer Pringle’s house and get some clothes; I’ve nothing fit to wear. Do you suppose I might borrow the Mini and drive over for them? I’d better go myself because I know where they are.’