Neither Ann nor Mrs. Ford commented on that, and a moment or two later the saleswoman was displaying first a dress in many shades of lilac, then a slim model in black, and another in dark turquoise.
Mrs. Woods touched the black one absently. “Something like this would be useful,” she murmured, and then with a wary look, “But I expect this is terribly expensive.”
Mrs. Ford smiled and moved the dress out of the other’s reach. “No,” she said decidedly. “It’s just that little bit too simple, and not really suitable. Black for anyone as young and pretty as Miss Anne! No, I think not. This turquoise is more suitable. Perhaps Miss Anne would like to try that...”
“Miss Anne!” It was curiously old-fashioned and apparently not quite in character, for Ann saw Mrs. Woods glance up sharply. They went into the pale grey and yellow fitting-room, and a few moments later Ann was staring at herself in the mirror. Yes, the dress fitted her and the color suited her. She probably wouldn’t find anything so good.
Mrs. Woods asked, “How much is it?” and closed her lips tightly when she heard the price. Yet for what it was in the way of cut and material, it wasn’t at all expensive. Quite reasonable, in fact. Odd how her store of “knowhow” and experience hadn’t vanished too, when she had lost her memory of people and events, Ann thought wonderingly.
She looked at the two women. “It is very nice, and if it isn’t too expensive...” Now her lavender grey eyes were entirely on her so-called mother.
“Well, we won’t decide immediately. What else can you show us, Mrs. Ford? The child doesn’t need to wear anything too expensive. She has youth and good looks, and they will carry any dress.”
“You think so!” Mrs. Ford’s voice was slightly astringent, and Ann began to wish herself back in the cheap, flashy shop.
The proprietress and the saleswoman went away again, and Mrs. Woods, seeing Ann’s expression, patted her arm hastily. “It’s all right, darling. I’m quite willing to pay that amount, but that Ford woman makes exorbitant profits, and if I can beat her down I’m going to do so. Ah, she’s coming back.”
This time Mrs. Ford was carrying a white dress. She held it against her own slim figure and Ann gave a little sigh. It was so very unsuitable for a girl who, except for once in a way, could hope to go only to hospital “hops” but it was so very lovely. Ann knew, even before wearing it, that it was her dress, hers just as if it had been specially designed for her.
Mrs. Woods had protested, but somehow the other woman had put the full skirt expertly over Ann’s dark head, and now she was smiling as she made the final adjustment of the cunningly twisted off-the shoulder satin bands. The dress was of nylon with a beautifully fitted bodice, and a flowing skirt, patterned with a heavier motif of roses.
“This is Miss Anne’s dress,” said Mrs. Ford simply, and here spoke the artist — the woman who really loved clothes — rather than the saleswoman.
Ann was staring at herself raptly. She had forgotten the other three. She was imagining herself walking down the stairs at Fountains with Iain at the foot, waiting to greet her.
She came back to reality. A ridiculous dream! And seeing her in a pretty and expensive dress wouldn’t change his feeling for her. Of course not. And this dress must be expensive — fabulously so.
She said, turning to the others, “It’s lovely, but of course...” She hesitated and Mrs. Woods filled in what she had not yet said: “Very pretty, but most unsuitable for you. And I imagine the cost is quite prohibitive. Yes, I thought so. We’ll decide on the turquoise, I think, Mrs. Ford.”
Ann nodded and took one last look at the vision of something that might have been, then turned away, standing patiently while the saleswoman and Mrs. Ford removed the dress. The turquoise one was pretty and she was ungrateful to feel so uninterested in it, but there it was.
They left the dress behind as it required some minor alterations. Mrs. Ford had already sent for shoes, white satin ones which were to be dyed to match. As to the bill ... apparently Mrs. Woods had an account.
“Thank goodness that’s settled,” Mrs. Woods remarked, sighing with relief, as they emerged from the shop. “Will you go back by bus, Ann? I have some other business in town and there’s no point in your waiting around for me.”
Ann went slowly towards the bus station. She was still thinking about the white dress, and did not see Ralph Gateworth till he stepped directly in front of her.
“Hullo, beautiful! You look as if you’re in dreamland as usual.”
Ann stared at him distrustfully. “I thought you had left.”
“Not yet, angel,” he grinned. “I’m working out my notice and I’ve got a few scores to settle before I go.”
Ann refused to allow herself to become frightened by his threatening tone. “I don’t expect to stay here much longer myself,” she remarked airily. “The children will soon be going to school and I shall be bored with nothing to do.”
“What about the old brain-box?” he queried sarcastically. “Any sign of your memory coming back?”
“Not at the moment,” she replied, and tried to walk round him. But he sidestepped and continued to stare down at her. “A pity you and I couldn’t have come to terms,” he said, almost regretfully. “We could have had fun. But you’ve got other ideas, haven’t you? The Director is your pin-up boy. A pity!”
Ann made no reply to that, though color flamed into her face. Did everybody in Sunbury and district know that she’d made a fool of herself by falling in love with Iain Sherrarde? She wondered wretchedly.
When she moved forward once more, Gateworth did not try to keep her and she hurried along, anxious to board the bus before he changed his mind. How that other Anne — Mrs. Woods’ real daughter — could have fallen in love with him was a question she would never be able to answer.
The bus started to move and she allowed herself to drift into a reverie about the lovely white frock, tantalizing her imagination with what Iain Sherrarde would have said had he seen her wearing it.
The days to Matron’s Ball seemed to flash away. Beverley’s dress had come, an ornate pink satin lavish with seed pearls. She tried it on again and again, preening herself for hours before the mirrors in her room, never tired of admiring herself. She didn’t seem to mind that Iain Sherrarde’s car had not lately stood waiting to take her for rides to the coast.
“I expect he’s away” she said carelessly. “Mummy said she had seen him in Sunbury, but that was several days ago. He flies to America quite a lot, you know. The Institute is working in close conjunction with a similar place over there.”
But if Iain wasn’t in attendance, Robert Leedon was — every day, and sometimes more than once. Beverley often invited him into her room where she was usually trying on her pink dress.
“Wouldn’t you rather have kept it as a surprise?” Ann asked her curiously.
Beverley shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to Lee what I wear. It’s all the same to him.”
Ann began a conventional protest, but the other silenced her, as she went on, “You see, he’s in love with me — really in love, poor sweet, and has been for eighteen years.”
Eighteen years ... when Beverley was sixteen!
Beverley made her kittenish face. “You ought to know, Sister Anne. After all, he was once your brother-in-law.”
“Brother-in-law?” breathed Ann uncomprehendingly. And then she stopped. Not her brother-in-law, of course, but that other Anne’s. Beverley and Robert Leedon had once been married! He was one of the two other husbands about whom the Derharts and Sherrarde had gasped in horror when they had found out about Raymond Derhart’s intention to marry.
“You were divorced?” she asked.
Again Beverley laughed. “Yes, very unwillingly on Lee’s part, but I wanted to marry Des Ranbury because I thought he would make me a television star. He didn’t, but that’s another story...”
“And then you met Mr. Leedon again down here, after all those years?”
Beverley looked ironical. “No, it wasn’t
that sort of fairy tale. Lee was always somewhere in the background, and then after the accident he got himself a job down here. Pulled all sorts of wires to get into the Institute, much to Iain’s annoyance. He’d got some up-and-coming young man of his own whom he wanted to see appointed. He and Lee hate each other, but that isn’t the only reason,” and she preened complacently.
Ann thought dully, she’s so lovely. Can one wonder that men — even a man like Iain — are mad about her? She thought of Maureen Lyntrope, with her imperious voice and her handsome face, and wondered whether she knew that Iain was in love with Beverley.
The other girl went on now, idly, “Mummy said she’d got you a dress of turquoise blue. Quite pretty, but not exactly startling.”
You could usually be sure of getting the truth from Beverley, particularly the unpalatable truth. She was like Emma in that respect.
Ann said, “Yes, it’s quite pretty.”
“Put it on. Let’s have a dress parade.” It was just as her own small daughter might have spoken.
“My dress hasn’t come yet,” replied Ann thankfully. “It had to be altered slightly and I suppose they’ve had lots to do. Matron’s Ball seems quite an event in Sunbury.”
“Yes, it is. All the medical big-wigs who have any connection with the Institute seem to make it an excuse for meeting and bringing down parties from London. About your dress. If I were you I should be getting all het up in case it didn’t come in time. Why don’t you ring up?”
Ann said, “I will this afternoon. If they are too busy to send it, I can call in later on and bring it back myself.”
Actually, she could feel no enthusiasm for the dress, pretty though it was. Beverley had summed it up so well. She should never have tried on that white dress, and then perhaps the turquoise blue would have seemed more appealing.
She had scarcely a moment for herself the rest of the day and it was with dismay that she realized that it was past closing time in Sunbury and she had not yet rung up. Perhaps there’d be someone still at the shop. She must ring up and see.
It was Mrs. Ford herself who replied. Yes, the dress would be delivered without fail tomorrow morning. And then before she rang off the woman said something which rather surprised Ann.
“I hope you have a wonderful time. You ought to be a wild success in that dress.”
Ann’s eyelashes fluttered. She wasn’t anticipating having an exciting time. How could she, dancing attendance on Beverley, who would surely outshine everybody else?
In any case, she was rather surprised by the remark. Mrs. Ford hadn’t struck her as the sort of woman who would indulge in false compliments, and pretty as that turquoise dress was, it just couldn’t be described as out of the ordinary.
All the excitement of the past few days had been bad for the children and they woke up on the morning of the Ball evidently quite determined to have fun, since that apparently was what their elders were going to have later in the day.
Miss Pollard had to send for Ann even before breakfast to help to settle them. She had a bad cold, and Ann would have liked to send her to bed, but Beverley was in a demanding mood and she had to hurry from the nursery.
“I shall rest all the afternoon,” Beverley remarked. “I’ve promised Iain that I’ll do so.”
Robert Leedon’s arrival freed Ann a little while. Even he seemed to be a prey to the universal excitement, she noticed. His normally pale face had a trace of color and his eyes were eager.
In the nursery, there was further trouble. “They’re being demons just on purpose,” Averil Pollard wailed. “They know I’m not up to scratch and you’re busy. By the way, your frock has come, so that’s one worry less for you. I heard Mrs. Woods tell Alice to take it out of the box and hang it up in your bedroom.”
Ann heaved a little sigh. She had never felt less like going to a party.
Emma asked curiously, “Who bought you the dress, Auntie Anne? Did Uncle Iain?”
“Of course not,” put in Miss Pollard reprovingly. “Why should he buy your aunt a dress?”
“Well, he looked at Auntie Anne in a funny way when I told him she hadn’t a dress ... as if he would like to buy her one.”
“Sheer imagination, infant,” put in Ann briskly before Averil could say anything. “And now I must go to find Nana to see if she wants me for anything. Behave yourselves.”
Miss Pollard followed her to the door. “I rather think your mother has gone out,” she whispered. “You’re not related in any way to those people in that air disaster in America, are you?”
Ann stared at her. “I’m sorry. I’m not with you, I’m afraid.”
“In the morning paper,” Miss Pollard began, and Ann shook her head. “I haven’t even glanced at the headlines. An air crash, you say? Beverley said nothing about it What happened?”
“Oh, there was an English family. Foxenlake, or some such name ... yes, Sir Henry Foxenlake and his wife and four sons ... all killed. I thought your mother was staring at the headlines as if she was terribly shocked, and I just wondered...”
Ann shook her head, and said truthfully: “I’ve never heard the name before. She was probably thinking of something else.”
The, day wore on, and in the afternoon again she was in the nursery to quell open rebellion, with paint bespattering the nursery floor.
“We want to look at your dress and Miss Pollard won’t let us,” Emma explained blandly.
“I’ve told them that they must get that paint cleared up before they go out of this room,” Averil Pollard said shrilly. She had said it several times already without any result.
Emma continued to look rebellious, though she had sufficient sense, now Ann was here, not to go on saying, “Shan’t, shan’t, shan’t,” as she had been doing at intervals for the past quarter of an hour.
Ann waited for a minute or two. She did not really like to be brought in to exert her authority, but it was obvious that Averil, her cold in no way improved, was almost at the end of her tether.
Nobody moved or spoke. Guy was watching the little group out of the corner of his eye, ready to start something if Emma gave the signal. Averil turned to Ann with a gesture of despair, and Ann knew it was her turn to speak.
“Emma, hurry up and do as you’re told,” she ordered crisply.
Emma said, with an aplomb and insolence that was worthy of her mother, “What have I been told?”
It would have been fatal to repeat anything that Averil had said. Ann remained silent and stared very hard at the little girl. There was a silent battle of wills, but at length very slowly Emma got up and began to wipe up the paint.
“I’m doing it because I want to,” she told Guy defiantly.
“I want to do it as well,” he yelled, and snatching up another piece of rag, he began to help. This was what Emma had angled for, and her own efforts began to flag.
“Could I go and look at your dress while Guy finishes this?” she enquired.
Ann shook her head, and Emma, with an angry glare, returned to the task of cleaning up.
“Now both of you can wash,” Ann decided, looking at their paint-streaked faces and hands. By now it was time for tea, with an interlude to look at Mrs. Smuts’ kittens. This gave Averil a short space to lie on her bed, with a cold compress over her eyes.
By the time tea was over, Ann herself was beginning to think that she too would rather be going to bed than preparing for a ball.
Mrs. Woods came into the nursery just as Ann was leaving, Miss Pollard having taken over once again.
“Beverley wants you to help her to get ready before you start doing so yourself,” she announced. “I’m going up now as I can’t bear to be in a rush.”
She kissed the children, asked if they had been good all day, and wisely didn’t wait for a reply.
“Can’t we see your dress just before you go to help Mummy? We’ll promise to be good till we go to bed, then,” Emma pleaded.
“Could we all see it?” Averil asked, for a minute or two her cold
forgotten.
“Come along, then,” said Ann lightly. Perhaps they’d like the turquoise dress more than she did — ungrateful creature that she was.
So they all trooped along to her room and with wide admiring eyes gazed at the lovely dress hanging at the side of the wardrobe. On the carpet stood the shoes dyed gold to match the gold satin of the cuff and the shoulder-straps, and on the dressing-table were the long gold gloves.
It was Emma who broke the silence — Emma in a strangely reverent mood. “Auntie Anne, it’s lovely,” she breathed. “Simply lovely!”
“Oh, it is,” Averil agreed. “Why, Miss Woods, it’s marvellous. Oh, I must see you when you’re ready.”
“And us,” pronounced Emma emphatically. “We won’t go to sleep till we’ve seen her, will we, Guy?”
“Won’t go to sleep,” the little boy repeated. “Won’t go to sleep till we’ve seen Auntie Anne.”
“All right,” promised Ann hastily, staring in dismay at the white dress. She wanted to get them out of her room so that she could think what to do next. It was too late to ring up the dress shop and ask to whom the white dress should have been delivered. For obviously the messenger had confused the two boxes...
No, that wasn’t the explanation, for she picked up the grey and pink striped box and saw her name clearly written on the label.
But why hadn’t someone phoned earlier about the mistake? The turquoise dress surely had been unpacked when it arrived and the mistake found out immediately?
But it was no good standing her pondering on all sorts of explanations. She had better ask Mrs. Woods what was to be done. But her bathroom door was tightly closed and Ann’s knocking produced no results.
In the end, Ann rushed off to Beverley, who viewed her with an angry frown. “I wanted you here earlier,” she snapped. “I’ve had my bath and I’ve been ready for my massage for ages.”
“Sorry, Beverley,” Ann gulped, “but honestly, I’ve not had a moment. And now—”
“Don’t talk. I won’t hear a word till you’ve massaged me,” the other girl said explosively, and threw herself down on the day bed.
Nurse Ann Wood Page 17