Fate Is Remarkable

by Betty Neels

  She told him. ‘And you?’

  ‘Busy—busier than I need have been without your capable help.’

  Sarah paused in her half-hearted efforts to tidy her hair. ‘Oh, Hugo, how nice of you to say so.’

  ‘Not only I but Peppard and Binns—they wanted to know if you would continue to work after we were married.’

  Her grey eyes were enquiring. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘An emphatic no. My dear girl, there’s no need for you to work, and think how my practice would suffer if it got about that my wife went to work!’

  He was smiling and she knew that he was joking, but not altogether.

  ‘Yes, of course. But I’d work willingly if you ever needed help … I mean with money.’ She glanced at him, but his face was inscrutable. He chose a blade of grass with care and began to chew it.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah. Spoken like a true friend. As a matter of fact I wanted to talk to you about money. I’ve plenty—a good income from the practice and enough of my own to be independent. Later, when we’re married, I’ll take you to old Simms, my lawyer, and we’ll have everything in writing. In the meantime there will be a quarterly allowance for you—paid in on our wedding day.’ He mentioned a sum which made her sit up very straight indeed.

  ‘All that? For me? Just for three months? It’s enough for a year!’ She had an enlightening thought. ‘Of course, that’s the housekeeping as well.’

  He laughed. ‘No, it’s not. You run the house as you think fit and give me the bills each month—if you’re too extravagant I’ll tell you. And if you ever need money, Sarah, you are to ask me for it.’

  She said obediently. ‘Yes, Hugo,’ although she couldn’t see how she could possibly spend all that money. Her voice must have betrayed her doubts, for he said with firmness:

  ‘Leave me to worry about it, Sarah.’ He chose another blade of grass. ‘I’ve letters from my mother and father for you—would you like to read them now?’

  He lay stretched out beside her while she read them. They were kindly letters, a little formal perhaps, but then they had never seen her, while Hugo was their son and they must have known about Janet. She wondered what they were really like—she would know, of course, on her wedding day.

  Hugo’s placid voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Should we be going back?’ he asked. ‘Your mother mentioned one o’clock.’

  They were within sight of the little door in the wall of the kitchen garden when he stopped. ‘Sarah, I have an engagement present for you.’

  He put a small box into her hand and she opened it, conscious of delight that he should have thought of it, and caught her breath at the diamond and pearl earrings in it. She said, a little breathless:

  ‘Hugo, they’re superb! I love them. They’re marvellous, only I—you …’ She stopped and started again, her voice very level. ‘Don’t you see, Hugo? they’re so lovely, such a magnificent gift … I don’t deserve them. I don’t expect you can understand …’

  He interrupted coolly, ‘You mean because we’re not in love? Don’t be a goose, Sarah.’ He gave her a half-mocking, wholly friendly smile. ‘I came down in the Rover; she’s yours too—you shall drive her back tomorrow.’

  She said in a shaky voice, ‘Hugo, you’re too good to me,’ and stretched up and kissed him on one cheek, just above his jaw, because she couldn’t reach any higher.

  ‘Thank you very much. I’ve never had anything quite as beautiful, and they match perfectly with my ring.’ She touched the earrings gently with a forefinger, her beautiful head full of half realised thoughts which she shrugged aside to say, ‘I’ll try and be a perfect driver, too.’

  He laughed gently. ‘I’ll answer that when we get to London tomorrow.’

  The journey back went well, despite the fact that Sarah made the initial mistake of going into reverse, and had on several separate occasions clashed the gears in a manner which caused her to flush most becomingly. Hugo, however, ignored these small mishaps and kept up a soothing flow of small talk which restored her confidence, so that she drew up before the house in Richmond with something of a flourish, to be rewarded with his quiet:

  ‘You’ll do, my girl. Just a little more practice.’

  Sarah went pink with pleasure; she would have minded very much if he had levelled criticism at her, although she was aware that she had merited it. Somehow, his good opinion of her mattered a great deal. It was therefore in a mood of relaxed content that she accompanied him into the house, to eat the delicious supper Alice had prepared for them, and afterwards to inspect her future home. They wandered around the rooms, quietly content with each other’s company.

  It was a lovely house; the furniture, although antique, had a pleasantly used air about it; the chairs were comfortable, the colours subdued. She approved of everything and roundly declared that she had no wish to alter any of it. Presently they went upstairs and she looked with something like awe at the beautiful room which was to be hers. It was at the back of the house and had a little iron balcony overlooking the garden. The furniture was Sheraton and the floor-length curtains chintz in muted pinks and blues, colours which were echoed in the carpet and bed coverlet. There was a bathroom leading off on one side, and a dressing room on the other side of the room, and Hugo said easily:

  ‘My room is in the front of the house, so you can spread yourself as much as you like.’

  His own room was smaller, and although the furniture was just as beautiful, it looked cold. Sarah decided that she would make sure that there were always flowers there. There were more bedrooms, all equally charming; even the small attic rooms had been furnished with care. On their way downstairs again, she paused by a big door at the back of the landing; she had seen it as they had gone up, but Hugo had walked straight past it.

  ‘Where does this door lead to?’ she wanted to know, and was chilled when he said, ‘Nowhere in particular.’ Which was nonsense, of course—he didn’t want her to know. She promised herself that she would find out as soon as she was able. Meanwhile: ‘The house is charmingly furnished,’ she remarked lightly. ‘Who did it?’

  Hugo said rather shortly, ‘I did, a long time ago. Nothing’s been changed, merely replaced from time to time.’

  He led the way downstairs, and Sarah followed him, digesting the unpleasant thought that probably he had done it all for Janet. A little subdued, she suggested that perhaps she should be getting back to St Edwin’s.

  It seemed strange to be back in uniform again and to see Hugo when he came to take his clinics. He addressed her with his usual polite formality, and at the end of the first one went away with Dick Coles, to reappear after ten minutes.

  ‘It’s fortunate that this state of affairs will only last for another week or so,’ he observed from the door, ‘for I find it both ridiculous and difficult to address you as Sister.’

  Sarah giggled. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said, and was conscious of a surge of relief. ‘I know it’s silly, but you’re—different here, you know. It seems as though none of it is true.’ She picked up a pile of papers and prepared to go.

  ‘In that case, I had better make it true, had I not, Sarah?’ He had come to stand near her. ‘How long will it take you to change?’

  ‘Ten minutes—no fifteen.’ She stood looking at him, the pile of notes clasped to her apron bib, her lovely face aglow. She hoped suddenly that he would kiss her. He did—a light, unhurried kiss on her mouth, the effect of which was entirely spoilt by his saying prosaically:

  ‘I’ll wait outside the Home. Don’t dress up—we’ll go and see Mrs Brown and then find somewhere quiet to eat.’

  It was to be the forerunner of many such evenings—sometimes spent at Richmond, dining alone in the quiet dining room and sitting afterwards, talking—there was so much to say; Sarah found the time too short. Twice they went to the theatre and once to the Mirabelle because Hugo thought that she should have the opportunity to wear the earrings. Then again to Mrs Brown’s rose-decked room, to drink strong tea a
nd receive a wedding gift—a knitted teacosy of a breathtaking red, which its donor declared would go very well with a nice brown tea-pot. Sarah thought of the delicate silver Queen Anne tea-pot which was in Hugo’s house and agreed with her, vowing silently that she would use it on her early morning tea-tray whether it matched the china or not.

  She had had a wedding present from her friends in the hospital too, and spent her last evening there going from ward to ward, wishing them goodbye. It was on her way over to the surgical block to see the night Sisters that she met Steven. She would have passed him, but he stopped her with an outflung hand.

  ‘I suppose you expect me to wish you happiness, Sarah. Well, I don’t. You’re a fool; van Elven’s not the man for you—he’s still wrapped up in his first love, and you’re still mourning me …’

  Sarah dragged her arm free and said furiously, ‘That’s a lie!’ then stopped to fight the tears of rage which choked her. Hugo’s voice behind her, quiet as always, but full of chilling menace, said:

  ‘My friend, it seems I must tell you to get out yet again—and I should go if I were you, otherwise I might be tempted to use persuasion.’

  She began to cry as Steven turned on his heel, and as he went she found herself swept into Hugo’s arms to be comforted. After a minute or two of snivelling she was able to raise a tear-stained face and say in a furious voice:

  ‘I’m so ashamed of myself, Hugo. And I’m not crying because I’m unhappy; I’m so—so angry.’

  She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes like a child and accepted his proffered handkerchief. Presently she smiled at him in a watery fashion. ‘Whatever do you think of me?’ she asked.

  Hugo put the damp handkerchief into a pocket, still holding her with one arm. ‘Remind me to tell you some time—Where were you going? I know we had agreed not to go out tonight, but when I got home I changed my mind and came back to see if you would come out after all. You see how I have got used to your company … We can have supper somewhere.’

  ‘I’d like that very much—I missed you too. I must just say goodbye to Sister Hallett and Sister Moore—I can do the rest of my packing in the morning. We’re not going until ten, are we?’ She hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t like to come with me? They’ll be in the duty room on Surgical.’

  He didn’t answer, only took her arm and walked with her down the long, deserted corridor, waited while she said her goodbyes, and then walked back to the Home with her. It was a lovely May evening. They lingered a moment outside the door and he said:

  ‘Wear that blue thing with the pleats. We’ll go to a place I know of in Jermyn Street.’ She nodded and before she went inside said on an impulsive rush, ‘Hugo, you’re so nice—I wish …’

  His voice sounded curt. ‘What do you wish?’ he asked.

  She heard the curtness. ‘Oh, nothing.’ She paused, feverishly trying to think of the right thing to say. ‘I expect we shall be a great comfort to each other,’ she achieved finally. Up in her room, changing rapidly, she paused to laugh ruefully. Her well-meant remark had been a stupid one, but it had been impossible to put her thoughts into words, especially as she wasn’t sure what those thoughts were.

  She was thinking about it when she sat beside him in the Iso Grigo, driving away from her parents’ home after the wedding. He was nice, and he was a comfort; it was as though he had known of the last-minute uncertainty which assailed her. She had got up early and taken the dogs for a walk, and halfway up the hill Hugo had been waiting for her. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and elderly flannels, and she had put on an old cotton frock and hadn’t bothered with her hair. All he had said was:

  ‘No one would ever think to see us now that we’ll be getting married in an hour or so,’ and then had gone on to talk about everything else under the sun. By the time they had got back to the house, getting married to him had seemed a perfectly sensible and ordinary thing to do.

  She had liked his parents too—they had been kind, and charming to her mother and father as well. If they had felt any doubts about their son’s marriage, they had given no sign. Her dress had been a success too, and although Hugo had had no time to tell her so, she was aware that he had liked it. The white ribbed silk, made up into the elegantly simple pattern she had chosen, had been just right for the lovely weather, and the little hat she hadn’t been quite certain about had been the right choice after all. She glanced down at the plain gold ring on her finger, and then looked sideways at Hugo’s hand on the wheel. She had been diffident about asking him if she might give him a ring too, and had been surprised when he had agreed without demur. He had put the heavy signet ring he always wore on the other hand. He interrupted her thoughts:

  ‘You made a delightful bride, Sarah—I don’t think I realised how beautiful you are.’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘I enjoyed my wedding.’

  She smiled back at him, and settled back beside him as he sent the car speeding on the first stage of their journey to the cottage in Wester Ross.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS BARELY half past one, for they had married at the early hour of half past ten. The day was bright and warm and the country looked fresh and green. Hugo had told her that they were to spend the night at Windermere, a journey of almost two hundred and fifty miles—a distance, Sarah realised, of no consequence to the Iso Grigo, nor for its driver, who drove with the casual air of a man taking his wife to do the shopping. But she had travelled enough with him by now to know that the casual air was deceptive. He said now:

  ‘And did you enjoy your wedding too, Sarah?’

  It surprised her that upon reflection, she had. Wedded friends had told her that they had scarcely realised that they were being married, what with worrying about their veils and the bridesmaids and whether the best man had the ring. But she had had no veil and no bridesmaids, and the best man, a cousin of Hugo’s who had flown over from Holland just for the ceremony, evinced no nervous fumbling at the last minute; he had been as calm as the bridegroom, who had been very calm indeed. She had been free to think her own thoughts, knowing that anything that needed taking care of would be dealt with by Hugo without fuss. She answered reflectively:

  ‘Yes, I did—very much.’

  He glanced at her briefly and smiled and she thought that he was on the point of speaking, but when he didn’t she went on:

  ‘I like your mother and father, Hugo.’

  ‘And they liked you. I’ve promised we will go over before the summer is over, so that you can get to know each other. I can show you something of Holland at the same time.’

  ‘Tell me about them—and about Holland too?’ she invited.

  She listened happily to his quiet deep voice, marvelling at the stupid idea she had always entertained that he was taciturn. When he chose to talk he had a dry wit which was never unkind, and an amusing way of describing things and people. She pondered the strange fact that although her heart was broken, she could so enjoy Hugo’s company. They reached Tewkesbury and the M5 without her having solved the problem.

  ‘Dull, but quick,’ was Hugo’s comment as he allowed the car to run up to seventy and then kept her there. But it wasn’t dull at all. Sarah forgot her problems; she felt happy and content, and delighted with her companion—it was like being with a life-long friend to whom she could voice her thoughts; she amended that to almost all her thoughts. They had talked frankly about their future together and Hugo had made it plain in the nicest possible way that he was content to wait indefinitely until such time as she felt that Steven no longer mattered quite as much—he had said it in such a way that she had gathered the impression that he didn’t care overmuch, and had felt unreasonably hurt, only to chide herself for being foolish, for if Hugo had told her that he loved her, she would have refused him out of hand. To marry someone who loved you when you yourself were in love with someone else seemed to her to be a towering wickedness. As it was, she and Hugo had a deep regard for each other and nothing more, and upon that they would build their marriage.


  Just before they reached Manchester he turned off the motorway into Knutsford where they had a rather late tea. Sarah, who was hungry, ate her way through an assortment of sandwiches, an odd scone or two and a variety of cakes with an unselfconscious pleasure, for, as she remarked to Hugo, she had been much too nervous to eat her breakfast and too excited to do more than nibble at the delicious titbits which her mother had provided for the wedding breakfast. She beamed at him across the table.

  ‘You weren’t nervous at all, were you, Hugo—or excited?’ She drew in a breath. ‘Of course, it isn’t quite—quite … well, I suppose you feel different if you love someone very much.’

  She had gone a little pink, but made no attempt to evade his gaze.

  He said, with the merest hint of a smile, ‘So I am led to believe—but I am neither nervous nor excitable by nature. Shall we go? It’s roughly seventy-five miles to Windermere; we should arrive in good time for a late dinner. The food’s rather good, I believe.’

  She got up. ‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ She looked at him doubtfully. ‘I don’t mean to sound greedy—only I’m mostly hungry, especially now I shall have time to eat. In hospital one eats fast, either because one has to be on duty in a few minutes, or because one is off duty and doesn’t want to miss a minute of it. It’s ruinous to a proper appreciation of food.’

  They were walking back to the car and Hugo took her arm and said:

  ‘The first time I took you out, you begged for something quick.’

  ‘And such a gorgeous place too!’ she sighed, and he answered quickly:

  ‘We’ll go there again soon, and you shall take as long as you like.’

  He was fastening her seat belt. She said to his downbent head, ‘You don’t mind—I mean, that I like food?’

  He laughed, looking all at once much younger. ‘I find it delightful to be with someone who enjoys herself—quite a lot of women pretend not to be interested in what they eat; which is nonsense, of course.’ He started the car and said, smiling, ‘There’s some quite good scenery presently; that should give you an appetite.’