by Betty Neels
Hugo’s voice cut through her vague thoughts. ‘Anything in your letters?’ he enquired idly.
She told him about Kate, and about Steven too, and he said:
‘Ah, yes. I’m glad Jim got the job—I had a word with Binns about him.’
She exclaimed warmly, ‘How kind of you, Hugo—what a dear you are!’
She was sitting in a leather easy chair within the soft glow of a red-shaded lamp. She smiled at him, unaware of the beautiful picture she made. He glanced up briefly and then down again to his letters. When he spoke it was about quite another matter.
‘We’re bidden to a cocktail party to celebrate Anne Binns’ engagement—er—Thursday week. Will you accept?’
She looked at him anxiously. ‘If you were alone—I mean before we married, you’d have gone, wouldn’t you? So we’ll go—only don’t leave me alone, Hugo.’
He put his letters down and sat back. ‘No, I’ll not do that, Sarah—but it’s a good idea to plunge in at the deep end, however cold the water.’
He got up and pulled up a chair to sit beside her. ‘I’ve not opened these yet. They’ll be invitations of one sort or another—shall we look at them together, and decide about them? There’s a letter from my mother too, and my sisters,’ he tossed them into her lap, ‘and there’s this.’
He handed her a card. It had a drawing of an unlikely-looking bride and groom standing under an archway of horseshoes, any available spaces being filled with cherubs and rosebuds.
‘Mrs Brown,’ said Sarah instantly. ‘Bless her shaky old heart!’
The verse inside was as unlikely as the cover, and underneath it Mrs Brown had written in a careful, spidery hand:
‘To dear Dr and Sister, knowing you’ll be Happy.’
Sarah avoided her husband’s eye. ‘I suppose she doesn’t think of us as Mr and Mrs.’
‘Do you?’ His question was unexpected.
She answered him, a little flustered, ‘I don’t know … I’d like to go and see her one day soon.’
‘That’s easily arranged. Come up to town with me in the morning. I’ll drop you off somewhere and you can shop if you wish and we’ll meet for lunch. While I’m at the clinic you can sit and drink tea with her. I want to have a look at her anyway.’
The morning sun was glorious. Sarah took advantage of it to wear one of her new dresses—a shirtwaister of silver grey lawn, cunningly pleated and tucked. She was aware how nice she looked as they strolled along Cholmondley Walk. There were few people about, the dogs had the place to themselves, and when Hugo whistled them to heel they obeyed him rather huffily, implying in a doggish manner that it was a day to spend out of doors.
Hugo dropped her outside Fortnum and Mason’s. She watched him drive away feeling a little lost, then turned to examine the tempting displays in the windows. He had bidden a cheerful goodbye and urged her to buy whatever she pleased and charge it to his account, and when she demurred on the grounds that no one in the shop would know her, informed her placidly that he had already taken care of that contingency. It was still barely half past nine. Sarah wandered round the food department, then found her way to the cosmetic counters where she spent a pleasant half hour choosing some new lipsticks. They weren’t a great deal of money and she had several pounds of her own in her handbag—she opened it and found a small roll of notes neatly ringed with a rubber band and bearing a message in Hugo’s awful handwriting that it was an advance on her allowance.
She counted it stealthily while she had coffee—for an advance it seemed a lot of money, but presently she was rather glad, because she saw just the scarf her mother had been wanting for some time, and then exactly the gloves she had been searching for. She strolled up Regent Street and on an impulse purchased all that was necessary for the making of a gros-point chair cover, and was appalled at its cost, but it would take a long time to stitch and it would be pleasant to do when they were home in the evenings. All the same she was secretly a little appalled at her extravagance as she made her way to St George’s Hotel where Hugo had said he would meet her at half past twelve. He was waiting for her, although she had taken care to be punctual, and took her up to the bar, where she admired the view while they drank their sherry and he talked of nothing in particular in his pleasant way. Sarah looked around while she sipped, and was glad she was wearing the shirtwaister and the white straw hat with its grey ribbon—it was a pert little hat and the ribbon matched her eyes as well as the dress.
She ate sole el Mansour because Hugo had suggested that she might like it. It was as delicious as he had said it would be; so were the raspberries and cream which followed it. They were drinking their coffee when he said reluctantly, ‘We must go, Sarah, or my new OPD Sister is going to hate me for evermore.’
They both laughed because he had already told her that Sister Vines was exactly what he had wished for—middle-aged and married and pleasantly dowdy, poor fodder for the hospital grapevine.
He had left Sarah in Phipps Street, waiting patiently in the car until Mr Ives had opened the door and ushered her inside the dark little hall. She had turned to wave, and he had lifted a casual hand in farewell and driven away.
Mrs Brown was delighted to see her, but her delight didn’t quite mask the fact that she wasn’t well. Her elderly face was too pale and lined; her ankles, Sarah noted with a nurse’s eye, were badly swollen. She had been twice to the hospital, she informed Sarah, driven there by someone whom she described as ‘a kind old geezer in a bowler ‘at’, who Sarah guessed was a member of the hospital car service … and Dr Coles had seen her and suggested that she should go back into hospital, but she had refused. She ate a chocolate from the box Sarah had brought with her and enquired about the honeymoon. Over tea, Sarah told her about the cottage, and when Mrs Brown observed, rather wistfully, that it sounded rather like Hyde Park, she found herself fighting a ridiculous desire to cry … but Mrs Brown, for all the fact that she was making no progress at all, seemed happy. She welcomed Hugo when he arrived, submitted cheerfully to a lengthy examination and then sat, Timmy once more on her lap, answering a great many questions. When he had at length finished she said comfortably, ‘I ain’t so well, Doctor dear, and it’s no use you telling me to go into ‘orspital again, for it’s of no use, and I’d rather be ‘ere with Timmy.’
Hugo was sitting on the side of the bed, his stethoscope swinging from one hand. He said kindly, ‘Then, you shall stay here, Mrs Brown. Your own doctor—Dr Bright, isn’t it?—is back again. I’ll ask him to visit you and our good friend Mrs Crews will perhaps pop in rather more frequently.’
He smiled and got to his feet, and Sarah, who had been quietly watching him, was aware that if ever she was ill she would want Hugo to look after her and no one else. His glance flickered over her and she got to her feet and said goodbye. Mrs Brown looked from one to other of them.
‘It’s nice ter see yer so ‘appy,’ she said. ‘Come again, Sister dear, and you too, Doc.’
On the way home Sarah asked, ‘Is Mrs Brown going to die soon?’
‘Yes—within a few weeks. We could keep her alive a little longer in hospital, but she would hate every minute of it. I’ll see that Mrs Crews understands the position.’
She said diffidently, ‘I should like to go and see her—you don’t mind?’
They had stopped at the traffic lights; he turned and looked at her coolly.
‘My dear girl, why should I object? I’m your husband, not your keeper. Did you enjoy your shopping?’
She felt snubbed and she wasn’t sure why; perhaps he didn’t like her being inquisitive about Mrs Brown, but after all, she had known the old lady for a year or more when she had been in OPD. She replied in a subdued voice that yes, she had had a very pleasant morning, and remembered the money she had found in her handbag. It didn’t seem quite the moment to mention it, but she said a little stiffly:
‘Thank you for my allowance. It was thoughtful of you, Hugo.’
He didn’t answer and after a pause sh
e asked, ‘Did you have a busy clinic?’ With this remark she had better luck. He told her about it with no sign of ill-humour, so that she began to think that she had imagined it all. They stayed at home that evening, talking shop in a relaxed way for a good part of the time, and Sarah got out her gros-point and sat by the open window, and presently the talk turned to the garden and the house, and small everyday matters, so that she felt like a real wife.
The days passed quickly and smoothly. Sarah settled into a gentle routine which she found she enjoyed very much. She had thought that she would miss the busy life of hospital, but this was not so. Alice had proved herself to be a gem, handing over the reins of housekeeping without withholding her support, so that within a week Sarah was beginning to feel her feet. She took over the flowers for the house and a few odd dusting jobs and busied herself inspecting drawers and cupboards, and twice a week, when Alice was free, she cooked.
She took the Rover out several times and found that she wasn’t as nervous as she had expected to be. Greatly daring, she drove to St Edwin’s and brought Kate back to Richmond on her day off. Her friend had a great deal to say about everyone in the hospital, with the notable exception of Steven, so that when Sarah asked, with no sign of emotion, when he was leaving, Kate stared at her in surprise. ‘Sarah,’ she exclaimed, ‘you aren’t—you don’t still …’ She caught Sarah’s eye. ‘No, you couldn’t possibly. Your Hugo’s marvellous—you’re the envy of every female at St Edwin’s. Are you happy?’ she demanded.
‘Very,’ said Sarah, very quickly and not giving herself time to think about it. ‘I only asked because Hugo and I are going to Steven’s and Anne’s engagement party next week.’
Kate was all attention. ‘What will you wear?’ she wanted to know. It was an interesting topic of conversation and lasted them until it was time for her to go back to meet her Jimmy. Sarah drove her to the hospital very carefully, mindful of the rush hour, and on the return journey so busy with her thoughts that its terrors were quite dimmed. Hugo wouldn’t be home for dinner, so there was no need for her to hurry. Alice was out too; she would have the house to herself for the whole evening. Hugo hadn’t been home for dinner on Tuesday evening either; he had said he had work to do. She wondered what that work was, and thought wistfully that although they were such excellent friends, she didn’t like to ask. She supposed that when one was married—really married, and loving one other—one didn’t need to ask what the other one was doing, because life would be shared anyway. She sighed, deep in thought, and stalled the engine, and an irate taxi-driver leaned out of his cab to tell her what he thought of her, looked at her lovely, unhappy face and shouted instead:
‘Hard luck, miss!’ and waited patiently while she got noisily into gear.
The house was quiet when she got in. She went into the garden with the dogs, then went to the kitchen and made a sandwich because she couldn’t be bothered to cook anything, and when she had tidied everything away, she roamed the house, looking at the portraits on the walls, and examining the china and silver, of which Hugo had a small but choice collection. In the end, she went to bed with a book, and read the same page over and over again before she shut it, turned out the light and lay awake listening for Hugo. When he came at last, she heard him pause at her door and call a soft good night, but she didn’t answer.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE OVERSLEPT the next morning. It was Saturday and Hugo was free all day. Alice had called her, for her morning tea-tray was in its usual place beside the bed—she must have gone to sleep again. When she got downstairs Hugo was in the garden, reading his post. He looked up briefly and said pleasantly, ‘Good morning, Sarah.’ He smiled. ‘Lazy-bones! It was barely eleven when I got in and you must have been asleep when I called goodnight.’ His grey eyes were suddenly raised to hers. ‘You weren’t asleep, perhaps?’
She evaded a direct answer. ‘I must have been tired—I expect it was the result of driving to St Edwin’s twice in one day.’
‘Did you? Good girl! Just for that I’ll take you to the theatre and supper afterwards … the Mirabelle. I’ve got tickets for that show at the Comedy.’ He tucked an arm into hers. ‘Come and have breakfast—I’m famished.’
Sarah, dressing for her evening out, surveyed her person in the long mirror in her bedroom and decided that she didn’t look bad at all. She had bought the dress in Salisbury with part of her father’s cheque, and now she was glad that she had; it was sugar-pink organza with a scooped-out neck and long sleeves caught into a tight buttoned cuff—it looked faintly Regency, and she had dressed her hair to match it in a honey bun. The earrings looked fabulous with it too. She turned from admiring them as there was a tap on the door and Hugo came in. She caught up her purse and said, ‘I’m ready—will I do?’ in a happy, excited voice.
She revolved slowly, so that the dress blew out in soft folds around her, and stopped to face him. He was standing with his back to the door, with his hands behind him. He said gravely:
‘You look like a fairy princess—I only hope you won’t disappear during the evening.’ He left the door and she saw the velvet case he was holding. ‘You should have had this when we were married, but I had no opportunity to get it from the bank. It was my grandmother’s—a gift from my grandfather when she was his bride, just as it is now a gift from me to my bride.’
There were pearls inside—a double string with a diamond clasp. She held them in her hands and said, breathless with delight, ‘They’re gorgeous—fabulous!’ She gave him a long look, trying to read the expression on his face. But it wasn’t for her to read; she gave up after a moment and said in a small voice, ‘Thank you, Hugo—will you put them on for me, please?’
She felt his cool fingers on her neck, and then, hands resting lightly upon her shoulders, he turned her round to face him again. He put a finger under her chin and stood staring down at her, then released her and said lightly, ‘Are you ready? Will you need a wrap?—it’s a warm night.’
She answered him, not really aware of what she said; she had thought for one moment that he was going to kiss her, but he hadn’t. And she was disappointed.
The evening was magic; the play was excellent and the Mirabelle a fitting background for the pearls. She hardly noticed what she ate, and they danced, not talking. They got back home at three o’clock and he kissed her lightly on her cheek and said, ‘Up to bed with you.’
Sarah was suddenly petulant. She wasn’t a little girl, to be told when to go to bed! ‘I’m not sleepy,’ she said slowly.
He turned from locking the door behind them. ‘Well, I am,’ he said mildly, and she turned without a word and went upstairs to her room, only pausing at the door to say, ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Hugo. I enjoyed it.’ She waited a moment hopefully, but all he said was, ‘Good. Sleep well.’
She lay seething with a rage she didn’t understand, and her last waking thought was that never—never would she wear the pink organza again. She was vague as to the reason for this momentous decision and she was suddenly too sleepy to bother, anyway.
It was on Tuesday again that Hugo called over his shoulder as he left the house that he wouldn’t be back until after nine at the earliest, and would she mind being on her own. Before Sarah could utter the sharp observation which sprang to her lips, he had gone. She watched the car slide away with a smouldering eye, then tried to forget about it. But she thought about it a good deal during the day. Perhaps he went to his club, or visited an old friend—a cold reasoning voice at the back of her head asked what kind of friend, and she decided against pursuing this dangerous train of thought. One day, when the occasion was right, she would mention it. She had other things to occupy her mind, she told herself stoutly. There was the matter of a new dress for Mr Binns’ party—she had several in the cupboard which would do very well, but there was no harm in looking around. She had a game with the dogs, talked house with Alice and then went to Harrods, where she found a very simple and consequently very expensive dress in honey-coloured s
ilk jersey—it would be exactly right for the pearls. She bought it, and because the day stretched before her into a lonely evening, took a taxi to Phipps Street.
Mrs Brown was glad to see her—she was also very much worse, although she made no mention of this, merely asking Sarah in a small, breathless voice if she would make tea for them both. Sarah had brought her a bedjacket, a frivolous thing, pink and frilly. They admired it together and drank their tea, then Sarah, on the pretext of talking to Mr Ives, went in search of Mrs Crews and arranged for that good soul to let her know immediately if Mrs Brown should become worse. She went back to Mrs Brown and stayed another half hour or so before taking her leave. It was only four o’clock—she went home and took the dogs for a long walk, then went to bed early after a lengthy talk with her mother on the telephone, in which she gave a somewhat inaccurate account of life in Richmond in a voice which was a little too cheerful.
She was glad about the new dress when they arrived at Mr Binns’ home, which was a splendid house in Hampstead, furnished to the last inch by a well-known decorator. It was like walking through the pages of Ideal Home but far less interesting, for nothing had been left to individual choice. Mrs Binns had obviously submitted to the dictates of the current fashion in furniture. Sarah, studying a peculiar chair as they crossed the imposing entrance hall, hoped that she was happy with it.
The rooms were full, but she knew a great many of the people there—Matron, the consultants, members of the Hospital Committee—she had an acquaintance with them all. There was a number of younger men and women too, friends of Anne Binns, she supposed. Sarah said the right things to Anne and thought she looked rather pretty in a mousy sort of way. Her dress was quite lovely, and a good thing too, thought Sarah waspishly; with a figure like that … Meeting Steven wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be; perhaps it was the new dress and the pearls, or the gentle pressure of Hugo’s hand under her elbow, which made it possible for her to greet him so easily and congratulate him with every sign of sincerity. She had expected that the pain of meeting him again in such circumstances would be acute, but she felt nothing at all except a well-concealed embarrassment; perhaps that was what being numb with pain meant—probably she would feel dreadful later on. She went around the room greeting those she knew and receiving a great many good wishes in the process; it was probably coincidental that Steven joined the group she found herself with. She knew none of the people in it very well, some not at all. They went away one by one, leaving her with Steven.