Sara agreed with him. I'd like to go to the Madder-market theatre some time. What sort of productions do they put on ? '
Oh, various. But all good, of course.'
He was a very satisfying companion, and Sara couldn't
help wondering what Jim Crombie's company would be like when he wasn't either being annoyed or sarcastic. Or was he like that most of the time ?
When they left the restaurant they walked around the town for a little while. Sara, had said she loved a town at night when all the shops—or the main ones, at any rate—were brightly lighted, yet there were no milling crowds.
' You have to be in the mood for' 'Crowds, I think, don't you ? '
' I'm never in the mood,' he confessed. Or hardly ever,' he amended.
Perhaps it depends on the crowd ? '
Yes. I don't mind a crowd at a cricket match, but I hate a football crowd. I hate hordes of shoppers, but I don't mind an agricultural show. Which reminds me, I hear there's to be a Young Farmers' Ball. Would you like to go ? '
Sounds attractive. Why " young farmers " ? '
It's organized by the Young Farmers' Club. It's quite an affair '
' What kind of dancing do they have ? '
' Oh, to suit all tastes. The old one, two, three waltzes, Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow as well as jive.'
In that case, I'd love to go. That is, if Jim will oblige.'
Jim usually goes, if he can.'
' Oh.'
' But don't worry. We have an arrangement with the landlord of the Bull opposite the Corn Exchange where the ball is held. Any calls are put through to the Bull, and the landlord sends somebody across with a message.'
' Very convenient.'
So Jim danced, did he ? Would he be taking someone with him ? Nina, perhaps ?
When Oliver turned his car into the drive of Ashton
House, the downstairs rooms, except for the hall, were in darkness.
Jessie's gone to bed, I expect,' said Sara.
Oliver switched off the engine and headlights. Well, there's one thing, we shan't be confronted with Jim as we were last time I saw you home.'
No, indeed. I felt like' a teenager coming in late and being caught on the doorstep by an irate parent.'
Oliver shook his head. ' I don't know what's come over old Jim these days. I think he must be in love or something. He has all the symptoms—moody, irritable, unpredictable
Sara's stomach contracted sharply. She laughed, and the sound was a little peculiar.
' Good heavens ! With whom, do you think ? I thought it was only women who had these moods.'
My dear, that shows how little you know about the male of the species. As to who might be the object of his affections, as they say, I wouldn't like to offer an opinion. I've got my own troubles.'
You ? '
He put his arm about her shoulders. Yes, me.' He pulled her round to face him and put his hand under her chin. You're beginning to haunt me, do you know ? '
Oh, Oliver ' she protested, not knowing whether
to take him seriously or not.
It's true. If the telephone hadn't interrupted things last night, who knows what might have happened ? '
As he finished speaking his lips touched hers with an ardour to which she found herself responding immediately.
He looked into her eyes. Sara, I'm falling in love with you. I hadn't meant to say anything yet, but
She blinked, deeply affected. Oliver, I don't know what to say
Don't say anything. Not yet. It's too soon. Let's be sure. Let's—Oh, Sara—darling---'
He kissed her again, and she felt the strength of
his passion. She responded again. She needed his strength, his love. She had been lonely for too long. Something inside her longed for the love of a man like this. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but the words would not come, and after a minute or so, she began to feel stifled.
' Oliver, please, I think I'd better go in now. It's-- getting late.'
Slowly, he released her. ' Goodnight, then.'
She touched his cheek. Goodnight, bless you.
Thanks for a lovely evening. I have enjoyed it.' Another one soon ? '
She nodded. Give me a ring—and I shall be looking forward to the Young Farmers' Ball.'
He saw her to the front door, and with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, he let her go.
She made. her way upstairs to her room, a little worried. Was he serious about falling in love with her ? Or was he, like herself, merely fond ? She didn't know whether she was falling in love with him or not. She didn't want to hurt him, and would hate it if— But it was no use worrying, she told herself. They were both adult. If his feelings could become stronger than hers resulting in some unhappiness for him, then it could work the other way, too. There was always that risk when two people liked each other a lot. There was only such a thin dividing line, sometimes, between fondness and love. But something more than affection was needed for marriage—a love so strong and deep it would endure despite all the faults of man and woman, the day-to-day irritations, the problems of life. A couple needed to have an overwhelming passion for one another to withstand the trials of the years. Nowadays, Sara longed for such a love as she had never done before. Why ? Why now, since she had come to Norfolk ?
She slipped into bed and lay tossing for a while. What happened if the feelings of only one of a couple
like Oliver and herself became more than affection ? Perhaps she had been wrong to encourage Oliver, if encourage him she had.
She punched her pillow impatiently. It was plain ridiculous to worry like this. Things just had to take their course. She drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened what seemed seconds later, to the insistent ringing of the. telephone beside her bed. It was the local police. An old man who lived alone had been taken ill during the night. A passing policeman, seeing the old man's light on, had passed and heard him groaning. Knowing that the man often did not lock his door, the policeman had gone into the house and found him in great pain and having been sick.
I'll come at once. What's his name and where does he live ? '
His name was Taylor and he lived in a brick and flint cottage on Marsh Lane. Sara knew it, an unmade road full of potholes with nowhere to turn the car within a couple of miles, and the crooked lane down which to back out.
Thank you, constable,' she said sleepily.
It was five o'clock. Sara felt as though she had never closed her eyes. But if the old man was in pain and had been sick, it could be anything from food poisoning to obstruction. No time even to make a cup of coffee. Swiftly, she pulled on a pair of tights she kept for this purpose, and over them put on a lined sweater dress, then her coat.
Outside, the shock of the cold morning air jerked her into alertness. She got into her car which, owing to regular servicing, started up without any trouble.
A neighbour was with the old man. Has he no family in the village ? ' asked Sara.
' No, ma'am—I mean, Doctor.'
Sara looked at the man in the bed. How long have you had this pain, Mr Taylor ? '
On an' off, all day yesterday --- ' he gasped.
His pulse was quick and weak, his skin cold and clammy. This wasn't just something he had eaten. He looked ill and dehydrated and his pain was obviously severe. Sara turned down the bedclothes and gently palpated the man's abdomen. There was marked tenderness in both right and left iliac regions.
' It came on suddenly, did it, Mr Taylor ? '
He nodded. ' It ain't fer what I ate. I ain't 'ad nuthin'. I 'ardly 'ad a bite t'eat all yistaday '
' I see,' Sara said gravely. ' Well now, listen, Mr Taylor. I want you to go into hospital. There's something more here than medicine will cure.'
' I'll be glad to get rid of it, Doctor, whatever it is. But can't yer gimme somethin' for the pain ? '
' Yes, I will. But I want you to go into hospital right away. You understand ? Now tell me, who is your nearest relative and where do t
hey live ? We must let them know you're ill.'
He told her, and Sara made a note of it, then left, leaving the neighbour, who promised to stay with the aid man until the ambulance came for him. She was relieved that he had consented to go into hospital so easily. Often, old people were truculent and had to be persuaded into going. But the poor old man was obviously in so much pain and feeling so ill, he was glad to.
She made arrangements for his immediate admission, telephoned the police asking them to have a message rung through to his son in Lincolnshire and wrote her hospital letter. By now, it was six-thirty. Hardly worth going back to bed. She made a pot of tea and took it into the sitting-room and switched on the electric fire. The room was still warm from the previous evening. Sara drank her tea, then leaned back on the cushions and let her mind wander at will. She thought first of the old man being whisked off to hospital, of
Mrs Miller, old Mrs Lovell, Jim. Jim and Oliver, Uncle John and back to Jim again.
She was in a semi-doze when the door was flung open and Jessie stood there.
Good heavens, Doctor, what on earth are you doing down here ? You haven't been there all night, have you ? '
Sara laughed, and stood up and stretched limbs which had become cramped.
' No, Jessie, of course not. Why should I sleep down here when I've got a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs ? I was called out to a patient at just after five and it seemed hardly worth while going back to bed.'
Typical of a doctor's housekeeper, Jessie wanted to know who it was and all about it, and so Sara told her, having long since discovered that Jessie knew practically everyone in the village--and indeed for miles around.
She dressed and breakfasted, and the daily round began again. When she returned home for lunch; she found Jim Crombie in the kitchen chewing an apple.
Hello. You come to lunch ? ' she asked him.
He shook his head. ' Mrs Thorpe's expecting me. I hear you were called out during the night, or rather, the early hours of the morning.' He eyed her keenly. ' You look washed out
Thanks !'
He chose to ignore her sarcasm, uttered in reaction against his tone which seemed to her more accusing than actually sympathetic.
' I suppose you were late getting home last night,' he said, tartly.
No—if it's any of your business.'
She saw his jaw tighten. He looked at the apple he had been eating as if he suddenly hated it. He opened the kitchen door and sent it hurtling to the top of the garden. Then he pulled his pipe out of his pocket.
There's no need to be rude,' he told her, as he rammed tobacco into it. I was about to suggest that you take a rest this' afternoon. I'll take any calls that come in.'
Before Sara could reply, Jessie, who had just come in from the dining-room, answered:
That's very good of you, Dr Crombie. She certainly needs it.'
Sara drew an angry breath. I'm perfectly all right, thank you. I can take my own calls. If lunch is ready, Jessie, I'll have it. I'll just go upstairs and wash my hands.'
shrugged his shoulders. All right. Don't say
I didn't offer, that's all. I'm only trying to keep my promise to John. I don't really mind what you do. at But remember, a doctor can't afford to burn the candle
both ends. 'Bye, Jessie--
Miss Sara, really,' admonished Jessie when he had gone. I'm surprised at you. The doctor was only trying to help.'
I wish I could believe that,' she retorted, and went upstairs.
All the same, 'she couldn't help feeling a little guilty as she ate her solitary lunch. Perhaps he had meant well. But why, oh, why did he have to be so—so--- She couldn't find the right word, and felt irritated and annoyed. It was like this every time he came on the scene. She had intended having a rest this' afternoon, anyway, and if he had been a little more—gentle, she would have glad of his offer, and have appreciated it. She was not ungrateful. She had never been considered difficult to get along with. Oh„ hang Jim Crombie, she thought crossly.
She went to her room as soon as she had finished her lunch, asking Jessie not to' disturb her unless she thought a call was really urgent. She had a record player in her room. She put on some. soothing music
and lay down on her bed beneath the eiderdown. Soon her raggedness faded. He was funny, really, she thought sleepily. And after all, he did notice that she looked tired, and had taken the trouble to call. She smiled to herself, and drifted off to sleep.
For the next few days, life was very much a matter of routine. Uncle John made a steady improvement, Oliver called and had supper with her once or twice, and she was glad of his company. But beyond a goodnight kiss their relationship did not progress any further. and she was content with things as they were, for the time being at least. She did not see Jim at all. When she went to see Uncle John, she learned that he had visited him, but the next time she saw him was at the Young Farmers' Ball.
Oliver called for her on the night, and they went to the Corn Exchange in Sara's car, in case she was called out to a patient.
' Just about everyone in the village will be there,' he told her, as well as lots of people from round about, including our local aristocracy and a sprinkling of writers and artists.'
Really ? I didn't know we had any of those—er --- things.'
Oliver laughed. Oh yes. But they're really quite human.'
It was certainly a friendly atmosphere. Sara left her coat in the care of a couple of weather beaten young farmers and joined Oliver just as the band was playing one of her favourite tunes.
He eyed her appreciatively. ' You look wonderful, Sara. I'm not going to let you out of my sight t '
She laughed, and they began to dance. She wore a blue dress in filmy nylon with a straight skirt and a fly-away piece at the back. It was ages since she had enjoying been to a dance like this, and she was thoroughly
herself until, all .at once, she saw Jim. He was
dancing with Nina and looked as if he were oblivious of anything or anyone else.
Sara felt something inside her tighten, and gradually became aware of a feeling of great depression. She felt she hated Nina and wanted to cry.
Oliver said something and laughed, then he looked at her as if expecting her to share a joke.
' What's the matter, Sara ? You look upset about something.'
She shook her head in swift denial. e No, I'm not. Nothing's the matter. It's just that—I've suddenly remembered I—Will you excuse me for a moment, Oliver ? '
She fled, not knowing quite where she was going. All she knew was that she must get away from the ballroom for a minute to compose herself. The only place was the powder-room, which naturally was crowded. She went to one of the mirrors and began tidying hair which did not require such attention. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, then let it out again in an effort to quell the tumult within her.
What was the matter with her ? Why should the sight of Jim dancing with Nina make her feel like this ? She took out her compact and looked at herself squarely in the large cloakroom mirror, and all at once she knew.
She was in love with him.
CHAPTER VIII
Sara wondered afterwards why she had not realized it before. It should have been obvious to her. She had been so sensitive to him right from the beginning. But she hadn't wanted to fall in love with him. As he so obviously disliked her, she had fought against it, knowing it could only bring her pain. She could no longer fight it, but the acknowledgement brought her no joy. She could only hope that through concentration on her work she would be able to live with it, and that one day her feelings would change.
' Are you all right, Sara ? ' Oliver asked her when she returned to him.
She forced a smile. ' Yes, thanks, Oliver, quite all right. Let's dance again, shall we ? '
Resolutely, she kept her gaze from straying to find Jim. There were a good many people at the dance that she knew. Some were her patients. There was the Rector and his wife, Mr and Mrs William
s, Alys and Bob. But it was inevitable that Jim and Nina should gravitate to Alys and Bob and Oliver and herself. A change of partners was inevitable, 'too. Bob asked Nina to dance, Oliver and Alys took the floor together, and Jim, with a faint smile, said:
' Will you do me the honour, Sara ? '
For a split second, she shrank from the idea of such close contact with him, but to have refused would only have invited some comment from the people round about. She stood up and gave him her hand.
I'm glad you realize it is an honour,' she retorted as they stepped out in time to the music.
He made no answer: The dance was a slow foxtrot, the tune a rather sentimental one. Sara treasured the
feel of his hand covering hers, his arm about her, entering into a world of make-believe.
You dance very well,' he said, after a minute or two.
So do you,' she answered.
There was another silence. It seemed odd to Sara. She had braced herself for some stringent remarks from him. She had become so used to them. But for once he seemed to have very little to say at all. Even when the music stopped before beginning on. the encore, he didn't speak. His face was unusually grave, and she wondered what was wrong. Once she noticed his gaze travel to where Oliver and Nina were dancing, and suddenly Sara was reminded of what Oliver had said about Jim being in love. He was in love with. Nina, of course. But why so miserable ? Surely she hadn't turned him down ? Two people didn't necessarily fall in love at precisely the same time, of course. But whichever way it was, her heart was heavy, and she determined that if Jim asked her to dance again, she would make some excuse.
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