Summer Storm

by Letitia Healy

  "No," Simon answered stubbornly. "I want to see the doctor and find out when I can take Jane home."

  "But Simon, that would be most unwise," John protested. "The doctor said last night that she shouldn't be moved for a while. I have a large staff here. She'll be well looked after, I promise you."

  "I'll hire round-the-clock nurses," Simon answered. "I assure you she will receive as good care at my home as she will here."

  While he was still talking, the doctor entered. He had heard the last part of Simon's statement and he said firmly, "It's out of the question. She is not to be moved. She needs complete rest and quiet and if that bunch who were here yesterday are your house guests, I don't imagine she'd get much rest there. Now get out, both of you. I want to examine my patient."

  His brusque manner vanished as soon as the two men had left the room. His examination of Jane was swift and gentle. When he finished he smiled at her. "You'll be fine, my dear. Now just relax and enjoy being pampered for a week or so."

  After he had gone, Simon came back into the room. Jane could tell that he was struggling to control his anger. He was used to getting his own way in things that mattered to him, and this had mattered very much. On the other hand, he didn't want to upset her.

  He sat down beside the bed and took her hand in his. "You realize that the only reason I'm leaving you here is because the doctor insists on it?" Jane nodded. "Well, you have a phone here on your nighttable. If you ever need anything, promise me you'll call." Jane nodded again. "And I'll be here every day to see you."

  Jane was genuinely touched, but at the same time worried about the interruption to his work. "Oh Simon, the book is going well now and you have so many distractions anyway. You mustn't do that."

  The brilliant blue eyes darkened and the look of tenderness that had been on his face disappeared. His voice was harsh when he spoke, "Well, if you would prefer that I don't." He bent over and touched his lips briefly to her forehead and before Jane could say any more, he was gone. She turned her head on the pillow and let the tears fall, until finally exhausted, she slept.

  Chapter Ten

  It wasn't until the next morning that Jane began to notice her surroundings. When she first awoke she lay quietly, trying to orient herself and take in the extraordinary events of the last few days. Her first observation was the peace and beauty of the room. The sun streamed through French doors, beyond which she could glimpse a stone balcony, filled with pots of flowers. The room itself was large, the walls painted a soft grey. The furniture, a highboy, a long dressing table, a carved chest and the four-poster bed in which she lay were all of satiny, golden oak. The rug was dark gold. A chaise longue was covered in a pale blue velvet, as were two comfortable wing chairs that flanked a white marble fireplace. The pictures on the wall were obviously originals and included several ballet scenes by Degas. The whole effect was one of serenity and peace. Jane then realized that she was wearing a beautiful white chiffon nightgown, accordion-pleated from neck to hem. She wondered sleepily who it could belong to. Somehow it didn't look like something that Daphne would wear.

  She was trying to make up her mind whether or not she should go back to sleep when there was a timid knock on the door and it opened to reveal a middle-aged, motherly looking woman carrying a breakfast tray. She smiled when she saw that Jane was awake. "Oh, my dear, you look so much better this morning. I'm Mrs. Morgan, Mr. Baxter's housekeeper and a good friend of your Mrs. Armitage. Mr. Baxter has relieved me of all other duties until you're better. He said that I should wait on you hand and foot."

  Jane smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Morgan, but I really don't think that will be necessary."

  Mrs. Morgan looked serious for a moment. "Oh, yes, my dear. Mr. Baxter was most explicit. 'Hand and foot'—those were his very words."

  She put the breakfast tray down on the coffee table standing between the two wing chairs. "Now, let me see if I can fix your pillows for you. Doctor says you should be able to eat a good breakfast today. We must get your strength back." She helped Jane into a sitting position with the gentleness she would have used with a baby, placed some pillows behind her and the breakfast tray in front of her. Despite the slight dizziness that Jane felt as she sat up, she found that she was hungry and not even a dying man, she thought, could have resisted the tasty breakfast that Mrs. Morgan had prepared for her. Fresh orange juice, creamy scrambled eggs, golden toast, fresh honey and a large pot of coffee.

  When she had finished, she did feel stronger, and when Mrs. Morgan came to remove the tray she asked her, "Mrs. Morgan, do you think I could have a bath?"

  "I was just about to suggest it, child. You wait until I take this tray down and I'll be back to give you a hand."

  "Oh, but I'm sure I can manage on my own," Jane protested.

  "Absolutely not. You mustn't be shy with me. I've nursed in my day, and you're going to be very wobbly for a few days. Now, don't you stir until I get back."

  Jane had to admit that she was right as they made the short trip to the adjoining bathroom. Mrs. Morgan had already run her bath in the beautiful, sunken cream-coloured tub, marbelled with gold and with gold fixtures. As she helped Jane remove her nightgown, she clucked at the sight of the ugly bruises covering her -body and Jane's shyness melted under the kindness and concern of the motherly woman. When she had finished her bath, Mrs. Morgan brought her bath powder and cologne and an exquisite nightgown of white lace with an underlay of nylon.

  "Mrs. Morgan, whose nightgowns have I been wearing?" she asked.

  "Why they belonged to the late Mrs. Baxter. It's her room you're in."

  Jane recoiled, "Oh, but that's not right. I can't wear her things."

  "Don't be silly, my child. Those are Mr. Baxter's instructions. The day you were hurt he insisted that you be brought here. It's the loveliest room in the house, and he said that I was to give you anything you needed from her things. He keeps her room exactly as it was when she was alive, not as a shrine or anything like that. I think it's just that the poor man doesn't know what to do with her things. He can't bring himself to get rid of them, and that Daphne, well she's no help, I can tell you."

  By now Jane was too exhausted to protest. While she had been bathing the maid had remade her bed with fresh sheets of creamy white linen, trimmed with eyelet embroidery. Jane wondered if she would ever be able to return to reality after so much luxury and pampering.

  "Now love, you rest. That's your first time up and it will take a little while for you to get over the exertion. There's a bell right there on the night table. If you want me, you push it and I'll come."

  Jane felt her eyes fill with tears. The statement reminded her of what Simon had said the night before about the telephone—"If you ever need anything, promise me that you'll call me." Mrs. Morgan, seeing the tears said, "There now, you've worn yourself out. You rest a while and I'll tell all those people who want to see you that they'll just have to wait."

  Jane's heart started to pound. "Who wants to see me, Mrs. Morgan?"

  "Well, Mr. Baxter of course, and that young film actor David Webber. He's been hanging around like a lost soul," Mrs. Morgan answered with a smile. But not Simon, Jane thought. And she turned her face away and closed her eyes. Mrs. Morgan tiptoed from the room, When she had gone Jane turned her head towards the French doors, which Mrs. Morgan had opened, and watched the golden rays of the sunlight streaming into the room. In her weakness she seemed unable to check the tears that fell slowly onto the pillow. She had not heard the door open and turned startled at the sound of someone clearing his throat. It was the doctor who stood beside the bed smiling down at her. "What is this? Tears? We can't have that."

  Jane tried to smile. "I'm sorry. It's just weakness."

  "Nonsense," the doctor answered, "when a beautiful young woman cries, I would be willing to bet it has something to do with a man. Is it that young movie star?"

  Jane laughed and shook her head and the doctor frowned, "Well then, it can only be that Wade fellow. You have my
sympathy."

  "Why do you say that?" Jane asked quietly.

  "Well, I really shouldn't say it, because I don't know anything about him, but just watching him and listening to him since you had your accident is enough for me. I've never seen a more bull-headed, stubborn individual in my life. Of course," and he paused, "men sometimes act that way when they're in love."

  Jane's heart lurched at his words and she turned a radiant smile upon him. "Now, that's enough advice to the lovelorn for today," he said gruffly, and began his long and detailed examination of her eyes and put her through the same neurological tests he had conducted every day since her accident. When he finished, he said quietly, "You're doing fine, you know. I think it's time I gave the green light to some visitors. Mind you, they mustn't stay too long and if you start to tire, throw them out."

  "Thank you," Jane said sincerely, "you've been very kind."

  "Nonsense," he answered gruffly, "It isn't every day I get to treat such a lovely young lady. Most of my practice is farmers who've got themselves tangled up with tractors."

  After he left, Mrs. Morgan arrived with her luncheon tray. "The doctor says you can have visitors for short periods, so I've taken the liberty of making up a tray for that movie actor fellow. If you don't feel up to seeing him, you just say so, but frankly, he's driving me crazy."

  "No, that's all right, Mrs. Morgan. I'd like to see him."

  David must have been listening at the door, because as soon as Jane finished speaking he was inside, carrying a huge bunch of roses and a pile of magazines. Mrs. Morgan shook her head. "Here, give me those and I'll put them in water. I'll send one of the maids with your luncheon tray."

  David came over to the bed and bending down, kissed Jane on the forehead. "That will have to do for now. I wouldn't want to shake you up until you're feeling better."

  Jane laughed. "David, I can always depend upon you to make me fed better."

  "Good," he answered, and then in a more serious voice, "You could depend on me for more than you know. I'm not really the devil-may-care playboy that my publicity agent makes me out to be."

  Jane was touched. "I know that, David," she answered quietly.

  "But," he said, "in the words of the movies—there's someone else, isn't there?"

  He was watching her intently and Jane flushed. She didn't want to lie to him. She felt, despite the movie-star image, that he was a good and decent man. "It's all right," he said, "you don't have to answer. But remember this. I don't give up easily. I think I'll just hang around for a while."

  They had a pleasant luncheon together, David making her laugh with an imitation of a confrontation that had taken place in the bar of the Culloden Inn between Anna and a farmer from the district who had tried to pick her up. But when they had finished, Mrs. Morgan bustled in and told David in no uncertain terms that his visit was up. He left reluctantly, but with the promise that he would return the next day. Jane felt suddenly very tired and she settled down gratefully for a nap after Mrs. Morgan had made her comfortable.

  When she awoke she was amazed to see that the shadows had lengthened on the balcony outside. She guessed that it must be late afternoon. Then, as she looked around the room, she saw Mrs. Morgan sitting in one of the wing chairs, knitting.

  "Ah, you're awake, dear. I was just thinking of rousing you. Doctor says to let you sleep, but if it appears that you've slept longer than normal, I'm to waken you. Something to do with the concussion. I think maybe you just overdid it a bit today."

  Jane stretched luxuriously. "Oh, no, Mrs. Morgan. I feel wonderful."

  Mrs. Morgan's face lit up. "Well, that's good to hear. You know, Mr. Wade was all for getting professional nurses from Toronto for you, but I told him straight, I've had a course in practical nursing and I've nursed many sick people in this neighbourhood before I came to work for Mr. Baxter. I was sure I could look after you as well as some flighty nurse from the city."

  "You've done a marvellous job, Mrs. Morgan," Jane said gratefully.

  "Well, dear, if you really feel well, I have a favour to ask."

  "Of course, Mrs. Morgan," Jane said.

  "It's Mr. Baxter. He's been half out of his mind with worry about you and yet he didn't want to come in and bother you. Would you feel up to having his company for dinner, if I have the cook make up a tray for him?"

  Jane was touched, not only by the obvious devotion that Mrs. Morgan felt for her employer, but because of the fact that after all his kindness to her, John Baxter had been staying in the background out of consideration for her.

  "Oh, yes, please Mrs. Morgan. Tell Mr. Baxter I would like it very much if he could join me for dinner."

  Mrs. Morgan beamed. "You are a dear, good girl." And she bustled out to make arrangements for dinner.

  She returned shortly to help Jane prepare for dinner. She led her to the bathroom where Jane washed her face and applied a little light makeup, courtesy of David who had brought some of her things over from the house on the ridge. When Jane had finished, Mrs.

  Morgan brushed her hair for her and presented her with a beautiful lace peignoir that matched the nightgown she wore. Then she settled her in the chaise longue and placed David's flowers on a table next to her. She stood back and looked at Jane and said with satisfaction, "A perfect picture you make, my dear, just like a painting."

  John arrived moments later, followed by several servants carrying trays, a wine cooler and candles. They set up a small table, similar to those used in hospitals, across the chaise longue, covered it with a snowy white luncheon cloth and proceeded to set out her dinner. John's place was set on the table in front of the fireplace. When the servants had withdrawn, John looked at her as if he never again wanted to take his eyes off her. Then, realizing what he was doing, he smiled, "You must forgive me, my dear. I really was concerned about you, you know. The doctor says you may have a little white wine. Now, please start your dinner before it gets cold. We must get you strong and back on your feet again."

  As they ate he talked lightly about the affairs of the community and the stables that he managed. Jane was amazed at the magnitude of the operation that he described, the casual way that he spoke of other stables that he had in Virginia and other parts of the States and Canada. And she was touched by his obvious devotion to the horses that he bred and ran in all the major races on the continent.

  When they had finished, John rang and had the servants remove the trays. It was dark outside and only the flickering of the candles the servants had placed around the room gave any illumination. As John drank his coffee and brandy and Jane had another glass of wine, a silence descended upon them. Finally John said, awkwardly, "I've sent Daphne away."

  Jane was astonished, and could only gasp, "But why?" There was a long silence and then John answered in a strained voice. "You see, my dear, although I have known you only a short time, I think I know you well, and heaven knows I know my daughter well. Sometimes I wish I didn't. There is no doubt in my mind about what happened at the stables the day of your accident. I had already warned you about Mona. I must confess, I didn't think that Daphne would stoop to such a thing. I was wrong."

  Jane's agitation was apparent in her voice. "But John, she's your daughter, all you have. You shouldn't have sent her away."

  John sighed. "I'm used to being alone. I've tried fooling myself about Daphne for a long time. She was a beautiful little thing when she was small and I worshipped her. Spoiled her too, of course. Don't misunderstand, I haven't banished her forever, just given her enough money… bribed her, I guess you could say… to ramble around Europe for a while. Quite frankly…" Suddenly he put his face in his hands and said, in a choked voice, "I couldn't bear to look at her when I realized what she and that devil Mona had done to you."

  Jane was stricken. She had no idea what to say. She knew it would be useless to deny what had happened. For all she knew, Daphne may have told her father, it would have been a typical thing for her to do. She seemed to enjoy hurting people.
r />   John broke the silence that had lengthened between them. "I want you to stay here as long as you are happy. I won't do anything to persuade you to stay one moment longer than that, but having you here means a great deal to me."

  Jane had not known how to bring the subject up, but it seemed that in the semi-darkness they had reached a closeness that emboldened her to say, "John, I feel strange… being in your wife's bedroom… wearing her nightgowns. I… I feel like an intruder."

  He gave a short, bitter laugh and got up and went and stood at the French doors looking out at the garden, drenched in moonlight. "Would you believe that I was never invited into this room before tonight? If you are wearing her nightgowns, I wouldn't recognize them because I never saw them. She was killed in a car crash in France, with one of her current lovers. I wish her death could have meant more to me, but it didn't. In spirit she had left me long before she died."

  Jane sat speechless, the tears running down her face. Finally, he turned towards her and saw her face in the flickering candlelight. "Oh, my dear, how stupid I am. Burdening you with all my problems when you are ill." He knelt beside the chaise longue and took her hands in his. "Will you forgive me, Jane?"

  Jane brushed away her tears and pressed his hand. "There is nothing to forgive. It's just that you have been so kind to me and you are such a good man. It doesn't seem fair that things like that always happen to the best people."

  His laugh was bitter. "I'm no saint, Jane. Things like that happen to everyone. Take Simon…" His voice trailed off. "My dear, I've tired you far too much. I'm going to send Mrs. Morgan to get you settled for the night. Thank you more than I can say for this evening." And raising her hand to his lips he kissed it lingeringly, and then was gone.

  For the next ten days Jane's life in John Baxter's home took on a kind of routine. David always turned up for luncheon, always bearing gifts of some kind, and John Baxter had dinner with her in her room every night. She heard nothing from Simon, and tried desperately not to worry about this, but she found herself glancing at the phone, almost willing it to ring. She kept telling herself that she had insisted that her accident should not interfere with his work, but then found herself asking how much time it would take for him to make one short, simple telephone call. Several times she would reach out for the telephone. Perhaps he was waiting for her to call, and then she would find herself wondering if it was his work that kept him from calling. Perhaps he was busy with his guests, with Mona… and the impulse would pass.