Fever

by Charlotte Lamb

  She looked at the stage again, dazed to find the ballet finishing. Applause broke out. The ritual of curtain clamour, the flowers, the bows and smiles and hand-kissing. Sara watched it like a zombie and wouldn't let herself glance again at Nick.

  Greg led Lucy and Sara along the crowded aisle towards the exit and all around Sara voices rose in bright comment on the dancing, the orchestra. She felt oddly isolated, cold. Greg looked back over his shoulder, frowning, and she summoned another of her false, bright smiles.

  They pushed their, way down into the packed foyer. Sara looked at Greg's back as she followed him. She did not want to look elsewhere in case she found herself looking at Nick. She was tensely con­centrating now on getting out of there without an­other painful encounter.

  He would be with his beautiful companion, of course. He'd have no time to look aside at Sara to­night. Perhaps he had already erased her memory, crossed her off his list. Why had he ever pursued her in the first place with women like that on his visiting list? Sara did not need to pause to compare herself with the woman who had sat in the box with him. Even that brief glimpse of her had been enough to tell Sara that in looks, clothes, manner, the other woman had outshone her on every point.

  Women like that came from Nick's world, the moneyed class to which he belonged. Sara was out­side all that and did not regret it for a second.

  As they finally pushed out into the cool night air Greg moved off to hail one of the waiting taxis and Lucy bent to fiddle with her shoe strap. Sara stood there, numbly looking at the stars in the London sky. They seemed oddly out of place up there, their light doused by the brilliance of the street lights below.

  'Sara,' said a voice. A hand touched her arm.

  She froze, her head turned away. Greg waved and Lucy, unaware of anything but that, said cheerfully, 'Oh, good, he's got a taxi. Come on!'

  Sara moved jerkily forward after Lucy's hurrying figure. Nick's hand held her back, gripping her arm.

  'Let me go,' she muttered, still not looking at him.

  His hand dropped. Sara walked away and didn't look back.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In middle June the weather moved into a dazzling heatwave, the skies a burning blue day after day, the London streets filled with a baking warmth which radiated from the pavements as one walked. Sara was feeling oddly tired most of the time, unable to work, spending her days doing so little that Greg regarded her with anxiety whenever he saw her.

  'You don't look well,' he told her, and she brushed aside the remark with a quick pretence of a smile.

  'I'm fine.'

  It was her constant cry these days. Lucy was as worried as Greg and got the same reply. She would not have anyone suspect how miserable she was, it would have added another dimension to her unhappiness for either Greg or Lucy to know how she felt.

  She was glad when a commission arrived sud­denly from some woman in Kent who wanted a landscape painted of her garden. It would get her out of London, remove her from Nick's milieu and from the quiet appraisal of Greg's too shrewd eyes.

  Greg went off to Cambridgeshire the same day, as it happened, so Lucy moved into Sara's flat for a while to look after the garden for her, and Sara drove down to Kent with a determination to forget Nick Rawdon.

  The house to which she was going was called Heron brook and lay in the rolling downlands of Kent which run down to the sea. Mrs. Walters had given her clear directions in her letter.

  She found Heronbrook easily enough. It lay well back from a narrow country road in a sheltered position and when she had parked outside it Sara sat in her car inspecting the house with interest. It was neither grand nor small, a large family house built, she would guess, in the 1920s with pale yellow continental shutters on the white walls beside the windows, and a sunny air of being very much loved.

  When she rang the doorbell, the front door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a dark blue dress who gave Sara a long stare from eyes which had the washed-out blue of a March sky. Tall, gaunt, with a long, horse-like face, she radiated hostility. Sara looked at her in surprised bewilderment, won­dering if the woman disliked artists on principle. She had met people like that.

  'Come in,' the woman said with pale compressed lips, when Sara had announced her identity.

  Sara came, torn between amusement and irrita­tion. She followed the woman through a hall panelled in pale golden oak, the tiny pleats of her pale green dress whirling around her slender legs as she walked.

  'Miss Nichols,' the woman said very loudly, al­most as though in accusation, glaring at whoever sat in the room.

  Sara walked into the room with a polite smile and stopped dead as she recognised the woman who was getting up from a velvet armchair.

  Nick's sister looked at her with the charming smile she had seen in the photograph in his Hat. Her hand was extended as she moved towards Sara. 'I'm so glad you've come,' she said, and then, seeing the way Sara's eyes flicked nervously round the room, she said, 'No, Nick isn't here.'

  Giving her a look of shock, Sara slowly accepted her hand, and Judith smiled at her. 'Come and sit down. You look shattered.'

  Sara sat because she couldn't have stood a second longer. Her legs were trembling. She glanced round the pleasant room and then back to the other woman, a disturbed question in her green eyes.

  Judith glanced at the woman who had let Sara in. 'You can bring in the tea, Tilly.'

  'I don't like it,' the older woman retorted, settling her hands at her waist. Her enormous teeth showed as she spoke. They gave gloom a head start, making the horse-like face permanently depressed.

  'Nobody asked you to like it. Go and get the tea.'

  Sara stared at them both, wondering about the relationship between them. She had thought as she was shown in that the older woman was a servant, but now she wondered. There was a confidence about the way Tilly spoke back to Judith that made her ask herself if they were related.

  'And what will you say when Nick finds out?' Tilly demanded with a rough voice.

  'Tilly, mind your own business!'

  Judith sounded as though she might lose her tem­per at any moment. Tilly gave her a long, fulminating look, then turned without another word and disappeared with the walk of a stiff-legged stork, her left foot dragging behind her.

  'Oh, dear,' Judith wailed. 'She's limping.'

  Sara was startled enough to ask: 'Has she hurt her foot?'

  'She sprained it ten years ago, but there's nothing wrong with it now. Nick had our doctor go over it with a slide rule and he assured us it was perfectly sound. All the same, when Tilly's mad, she limps.'

  'Why is she mad?' Sara asked, leaning back in the comfortable green velvet chair.

  Judith eyed her. 'She doesn't approve of what I'm doing.'

  Her green eyes on the other's face, Sara asked quietly, 'And what are you doing? Why am I here, Mrs. Waters?'

  'Judith, please call me Judith.' The pleasant face broke into a smile which was half amused, half placatory. 'I brought you down to meet you, to be frank, and to see if there was anything I could do.'

  Sara sat up straight. 'About what?'

  Her crisp tone made Judith grimace. 'Don't be cross, please. I've had enough of that from Nick.

  He's never been what I'd call a sweet-tempered soul, but in the last year he's become unbearable. Tilly and I knew there was somebody, but we couldn't find out who. Then I saw him with you at the zoo that day and of course I knew, although I still didn't know who you were. Nick wouldn't say a word. He can be maddeningly secretive at times.'

  'How did you find out my name?' Sara couldn't help asking that.

  ‘Well...' Judith was rather pink. 'Rather dis­gracefully, I'm afraid. That's another reason Tilly's furious with me. I stayed the weekend at Nick's flat the week before last and while he was out I looked through his private desk.'

  Sara's eyes rounded. 'I'm afraid I agree with Tilly, that was rather disgraceful of you.' She loved Greg dearly, but she would never pry into his pri­vate l
ife like that.

  Judith's chin firmed. 'All the same, it told me what I wanted to know. I found a tiny cutting folded into a drawer .by itself. It was a newspaper photo­graph of you at some exhibition with a painter and it gave your name, so I found out who you were and what you did. The rest was easy. I rang round until I got your address and I wrote to you.'

  Sara pleated her skirt, her bright red head bent. 'I appreciate your concern for your brother, but I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea. There's nothing between Mr. Rawdon and myself.'

  'Oh, fiddlesticks!' Judith retorted.

  Sara looked up, flushed. 'I assure you...’

  'You can tell me until you're blue in the face, but I know my brother and I've never seen him look the way he does now.'

  Sara's breath caught harshly. 'How does he look?' The moment the question came out she wished she hadn't asked, but a bright gleam of triumph came into Judith's eyes.

  'As sick as a dog,' she said, and Sara was torn between laughter and pain.

  'I wasn't sitting back with my hands folded while

  Nick went around in a permanent rotten, lousy temper,' said Judith, and the door opened and Tilly dragged in, pushing a trolley.

  'Nice words for one of the boys to hear,' she ob­served, giving Judith a fierce look which moved on disapprovingly to Sara.

  'They can't hear me,' Judith argued.

  'They might, and then we know what would hap­pen. They'd start using words like that and their father wouldn't like it. I'd be the one to get blamed, I've no doubt.'

  She began to pour out tea, her hands large and capable. 'Is she staying, then? If she'd any sense she'd drive straight back to London.'

  'You are staying, aren't you?' Judith appealed to Sara.

  'I can't.' Sara muttered the words without looking at her.

  'He won't thank you for" it,' Tilly informed Judith, handing her a cup and then passing one to Sara.

  'I'm not asking him to,' Judith snapped. 'Go away, Tilly, and mind your own business, as you won't help.'

  'Nick is my business, always has been since he was in nappies, and he's going to be livid when he knows what you've done.' The grim tones sounded as though Tilly contemplated that with pleasure. The pale eyes swivelled to Sara, sparkling wrath in them. 'She doesn't want him. Leave it alone.'

  Sara leapt to her feet, almost spilling the tea. 'Really, I can't discuss this with you. I must go.'

  Judith caught her hand, held it tightly. 'Please, just stay for tea. Talk to me. Nick isn't here, I pro­mise you. Oh, Tilly, go away! You’re ruining everything.' She stamped her foot like an infuriated child and Tilly looked at her haughtily.

  'Hoity-toity. Very well, go ahead, but don't come crying to me when Nick finds out.' She slammed the door as she went and Judith subsided.

  'Please, sit down again and drink your tea.'

  Sara reluctantly sat. 'But I refuse to talk about Nick,' she warned with her eyes on her cup.

  Judith offered her a square plate of tiny sand­wiches and Sara found herself automatically taking one although she found it hard to swallow a morsel, her throat so dry it felt as if it was full of ashes.

  'How long would it take you to paint our stream?' Judith asked brightly.

  'I can't,' Sara said roughly. 'It's impossible, you must see that.'

  'I'm not asking the impossible,' Judith said with a slight smile. 'I just want you to stay for a while, let me get to know you.'

  Sara looked up. 'Why?'

  'Please,' Judith pleaded. 'I swear I'm not expect­ing Nick. You must see that he doesn't know you're here, and he'll be at work during the week. He wouldn't come down without letting me know.'

  Sara concentrated on her plate, the half-eaten little sandwich. 'You're off course,' she said with difficulty. 'Nick isn't seriously interested in me.'

  'Are you in him?' Judith asked quickly.

  After a second's hesitation Sara lied, 'No.'

  'Then where’s the problem if you stay and paint our garden?" Judith asked with bright triumph.

  Sara looked up wryly. 'You're almost as stubborn as your brother,' she remarked.

  'He is, isn't he?' Judith agreed. 'Pigheaded. I did admire you for slapping his lace that day. I always used to want to hit him, but he was so much bigger than me when we were children, and he had no scruples about hitting back.'

  'I thought he was going to hit me,' Sara admitted, half smiling.

  'So did I,' Judith nodded. 'Heavens, he was in a temper for the rest of the day! Even the boys were nervous of him and he's usually quite patient with them; even when Andrew broke Nick's old cricket bat, which he'd treasured since he was in the school team, Nick only growled a bit.'

  'Is Andrew the eldest?'

  Judith needed no further invitation. She had a large leather-covered album on Sara's lap a moment later and was seated on the arm of her chair show­ing her endless photographs of small, dark boys with mischievous eyes and vulnerable little bodies.

  'Andrew looks rather like Nick did at that age,' Judith told her, showing her a faded old snapshot at which Sara peered with fascinated interest. Nick at seven with a skinny body and a banana grin seemed appealingly poignant to her. 'Now Patrick looks like my husband, David, which is rather worrying because David's beginning to thin out on top. I do hope he isn't going bald.'

  Sara looked at the photo of the boys' father, his calm amused face as he watched his sons. He looked older than Judith, around forty-five, Sara decided.

  'He's in Mexico,' Judith sighed. 'A business trip. I hate it when he's away for weeks, but I can't go with him because that means leaving the children alone for too long. They drive Tilly mad.'

  She glanced at her small silver wristwatch. 'They should be back soon. I've got a Swiss au pair who's taken them for a walk.'

  'Does Tilly look after the house?'

  Judith nodded. 'She'd leave me like a shot and move in with Nick if he'd have her, but he's got the Firths and when Tilly hints, Nick always says I need her more. Much Tilly cares. Nick always was her favourite.'

  'She's been with you a long time?'

  'All my life and nearly all of Nick's,' Judith agreed. 'Now she runs this house and keeps us all in order. I wish she'd go to Nick, but Nick's no fool.'

  Sara laughed. 'I'm sure you're fond of her.'

  'Of course I am,' Judith sighed. 'But she's a domestic tyrant. Luckily she adores Nicola. A stroke of genius calling her after Nick, wasn't it? Tilly at once fell for her like a ton of bricks. I love babies, but they are tiring and it's such a relief that Tilly will condescend to have Nicola around some of the day.' Suddenly she got up. 'Let me show you your room. I picked out the nicest one in the house. It has a super view.'

  Sara followed, protesting, 'Look, really, I don't think...'

  'Please,' Judith said with a smile. 'It can't do any harm, can it? I really would like to get to know you and I'd love one of your pictures.'

  Sara followed her up the wide staircase and ex­claimed with pleasure over the large, sunny room she had been given. Judith left her with her suitcase to unpack and vanished to deal with her returning children, whose stamps and loud cries came floating up the stairs.

  Sara unpacked and stowed all her things away, then stood at the window looking over the green gardens. The afternoon was fading into a rose and blue twilight which gave the view the effect of a stained glass window, tranquil and soft.

  A dragging sound alerted her and she looked round at Tilly's horse face. 'Can you eat kidneys?' Tilly demanded, as though daring her to deny it.

  'I can eat almost anything,' Sara said.

  'Well, that's a mercy because that's all there is to night. Nick's been off his food for months.' The pale eyes accused her.

  Sara felt hot colour flood into her face, and said nothing.

  'I'm not nosy, like Judith,' Tilly informed her offendedly. 'But I don't like it when he's off his food.'

  'Shouldn't you discuss this with him, not me?' Sara asked coldly.

  'He wouldn't t
ell me if I did.'

  'Maybe he doesn't want you to know,' Sara said tartly.

  'No maybe about it,' Tilly muttered. 'Always a difficult child. You don't think that stops me won­dering, do you?'

  'Wonder all you like,' said Sara, grinning sud­denly, the vitality and warmth of her smile catch­ing Tilly unaware.

  The washed-out eyes narrowed. 'Hmm,' Tilly said nastily, 'How old are you?'

  'Twenty-four,' Sara told her. 'My parents are dead, I live in London and I've got all my own teeth.' She showed them, her smile barbed, and Tilly gazed at her.

  'Saucy, aren't you? I can imagine you've been giv­ing Nick a hard time.'

  Sara bit back a blistering reply, her face closing up.

  Tilly nodded, the movement of her lips over her teeth passing for a smile. 'I know what you're like, just looking at that red hair. A hot-tempered madam, aren't you?'

  Sara gave her a cold look, her eyes biting. 'You know nothing about me. Kindly mind your own business.'

  Tilly's smile widened and got nastier. 'A little firework, spitting and bouncing all over the place. No wonder Nick got his fingers burnt!'

  Sara walked past her with her head held high and Tilly limped after her, chuckling to herself. Evil old witch, Sara thought, how dare she talk to me like that?

  Her view of Tilly altered gradually over the next week as she painted in the sunny, spacious garden. She saw a good deal of Judith and the children, but she saw more of Tilly, who took to walking down to the stream to stand and make rude comments about her work. Sara got mad at first but gradually found herself laughing, almost waiting with eagerness for Tilly's dry remarks. They always held the germ of truth, although they were often muttered so gruffly that they disguised the real value of their content. The more she saw of the old woman the more she was amused by her. Tilly was an original, blunt to the point of insult yet with warmth beneath the sharp gritty surface.

  Judith was quite a different proposition. She was a poised, confident woman some ten years Sara's senior, smoothly groomed, charming, very friendly. Sara liked her, but she found herself far more eager to talk to Tilly. Some of those barbed little digs were so funny that Sara treasured them to repeat them to Greg, who would also, she felt, find Tilly funny.