The Dutch Uncle

by Margery Hilton

  The river widened at the bend and the island came into view. Though small, it was heavily wooded and its banks high at the water’s edge. Then Tessa saw the narrow inlet Dennis had mentioned. Undergrowth scraped the sides of the boat and a lacery of green overhead obscured the sun as they entered.

  ‘It’s like a miniature lagoon,’ she said as Dennis tied the painter to a ring in the ramshackle arrangement of rotting planks that served as a jetty.

  ‘Sorry there’s no coral—and it’s too shaded to be blue if you’re cherishing romantic notions.’ Smiling, Dennis helped her up the bank and led the way along a narrow path beneath the trees. Birds took wing, angered by the invasion of their sanctuary, and once Tessa thought she saw the quick scut of a rabbit. Ten minutes’ stroll took them round the perimeter of the island and almost back to their starting point. Suddenly a burst of laughter rang out nearby, followed by a protesting exclamation and a feminine squeal.

  Tessa and Dennis glanced at each other with amusement.

  ‘We’ve company,’ Dennis observed, rather unnecessarily. ‘And I’ve a good idea who it’ll be.’ He moved forward, then hesitated. ‘Do you want to meet them? Or would you rather dodge?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all. But will they want to meet us?’ Tessa countered. ‘If they happen to be strangers you’ll look an ass.’

  ‘No more than usual—and you’ll pay for that later, my sweet.’

  Grinning, Dennis moved on, and Tessa followed more slowly. The path opened out into a clearing. A dark-haired girl wearing a blue dress was sitting on a log, dangling a feathery frond of grass over a young man who sat on the grass near her feet. They looked up sharply, and then, Dennis’s surmise proving correct, smiled and called gay greetings. A moment later Tessa had been introduced to Sheila and Bill.

  ‘Going headlong to their doom,’ Dennis said in sepulchral tones, indicating Sheila’s hand on which sparkled a bright new engagement ring. ‘How about joining us for tea at the Garden Café?’ he invited.

  After a great deal of friendly wrangling the two girls were inveigled into rowing, suffering the condescending instructions from their escorts with sad, resigned smiles of mutual sympathy. However, they reached the cafe without mishap, except for the loss of Sheila’s hair ribbon. A freshening breeze whipped her long, fine hair into a wild disorder, and at last, to stop the teasing dialogue between Dennis and Bill as to the strange objects one could fish out of the river, Tessa offered the loan of her silk scarf.

  ‘And if I hear one more bar of Die Lorelei out of you...’ Sheila threatened her grinning fiancé.

  They were young and merry and fun to be with, and Tessa felt a twinge of regret when the time came to leave for Dennis’s home.

  ‘Just take a look at love’s young dream,’ he directed cynically when they reached the part of the road that ran parallel with the river. From the car they could see Sheila and Bill idling blissfully along the bank, rapt in their own rosy world. Their happiness brought a warm glow to Tessa’s heart that not even Dennis s added comment ‘Wait till they wake up’ could dispel. But she forgot the young couple when she arrived at Dennis’s home and the painful shyness she invariably experienced when meeting strangers of a senior generation had to be once more overcome.

  She sensed that Dennis was on his best behaviour, also that he was not completely happy in his relationship with his parents. The modern, rather brash luxury of their home surprised her. And somehow she had imagined a tweedy, country type of estate agent, not this suave, immaculate man who was an older edition of Dennis. She could not help contrasting this new surrounding with the quiet dignity of Meads, where each piece was chosen not only to live in harmony with its fellows but to create the comforting atmosphere of a home. Tessa caught at herself; Meads was not her home, nor had she the right to look upon it as anything other than a temporary abode.

  She realized that Mrs. Gerard was addressing her and that Dennis was regarding her rather strangely. She apologized, adding, ‘You’ve given me such a delightful meal I feel quite dreamy.’

  It was true; it had been a delicious meal, faultlessly cooked and beautifully served.

  ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed it.’ Mrs. Gerard sounded mollified, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes.

  ‘You looked like the proverbial cat about to swallow the cream. Only someone took it away,’ Dennis said suddenly, leaning back. A loose strand of hair fell over his brow and he brushed it back, watching her expression as she co-ordinated his remark with her recent trend of thought.

  She met his mocking glance. ‘That was a lucky shot. If it’s any satisfaction to you, someone had taken the cream away—myself,’ she added in a small voice.

  ‘Most intriguing.’ Dennis raised his brows. ‘Aren’t you going to enlarge further?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Pity—we’ll just have to listen to records instead.’

  The evening passed pleasantly enough. Tessa felt compelled to revise the opinion she had formed of Dennis at their first meeting. At Angie’s party he had impressed her as being a rather shallow, languid personality, and one on whom her instinct urged her to reserve judgement and trust. But he had certainly proved a cheerful, pleasant companion today, she reflected.

  Sheila and Bill called to return her scarf, and were invited to stay for coffee and biscuits before Dennis took Tessa back to Meads. When he stopped the car she thanked him for an enjoyable day.

  ‘So formal,’ he teased. ‘We must repeat it soon. I suppose if I kiss you, little Tessa, you’ll up and run a mile.’

  ‘Who knows?’ she said seriously. ‘But you wouldn’t want me to run a mile.’ She smiled at him, then opened the car door and with a final, ‘Thank you again— goodnight,’ walked firmly towards the house.

  Dennis watched the blur of her dress dim in the dusk. He looked upwards with a brief, expressive jerk of his head, half smiled, then roared away into the dusk.

  The door of Nicholas’s study stood partly open, light streaming into the hall through the aperture, as Tessa entered. She tapped softly and announced gaily, ‘I’m back, Nicholas. I’ve had a lovely—’

  He looked up from his writing and his expression caused her to falter and stop uncertainly. Her laughter ebbed as he put down his pen and leaned back. He said icily:

  ‘Have you?’ It was a flat, sarcastically edged statement rather than a polite response. ‘I want to talk to you, Tessa. If you will remove that ridiculous scarf first.’

  Slowly she went upstairs, bewilderment giving way to anger as she washed her face and hands. Deliberately she took her time in combing her hair and adding a defiant touch of lipstick. What right had Nicholas to speak to her and look at her as if she had committed some frightful misdemeanour? She glanced at the maligned scarf with its dainty pattern of eighteenth-century fans printed in each corner and sighed, shaking her head. Slowly she went downstairs to face him, feeling much as she had done on the rare occasions at school when she had been summoned to the Heads.

  He was standing by the fireplace, his back to her, when she entered. Her sudden impulse to turn and tiptoe away must have reached him, for he turned and said sharply, ‘No, don’t run away.’

  She realized with surprise that he was uncertain how to begin, and the first tendrils of real fear closed round her heart. Had something happened to Angie? But she had received no warning premonitions of disaster

  At last he said, ‘You spent the day with Dennis Gerard?’

  The tendrils withered; it wasn’t Angie.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, unconsciously releasing the pent-up breath she’d been holding, and saw him glance curiously at her. ‘But you knew, Nicholas at least Florence did,’ she amended. ‘I didn’t see you yesterday to tell you—if it matters,’ she added with a flash of defiance.

  ‘It does matter. Where did you go?’

  She tried to subdue her resentment at the curt question and answered, ‘We rowed up the river, explored the haunted island, and had tea at the Riverside—
’

  ‘Riverside Garden Cafe?’ He stared at her amazed face. ‘That clinches it. I didn’t make a mistake.’

  ‘A mistake?’ she echoed, her bewilderment increasing, and his expression grew scornful. ‘You were there?’ she whispered.

  ‘No.’ A grim smile touched his mouth. ‘I wish I had been. Perhaps it’s just as well I wasn’t.’ He swung round abruptly, and said sharply, ‘For heaven’s sake, sit down! How can I say what I must say while you stand there looking like a frozen innocent?’

  Tessa sank into the nearest chair; I must scream, or something, she thought, if he doesn’t tell me quickly just exactly what I’m supposed to have done. She searched back over the day and the innocuous evening at the Gerards, and waited.

  ‘I’ve no wish to curtail your fun, Tessa,’ he said at last. ‘But having made myself responsible for your welfare during the coming months I must make some effort to carry out my obligation. I don’t object to your friendship with Gerard, though I’d prefer you not to see him too often, but when it leads to your making a promiscuous exhibition of yourself in public with someone I’ve never heard you speak of, who must therefore be only the most casual of acquaintances, I feel the time has come to exert my authority.’

  ‘A promiscuous exhibition!’ she gasped, the colour draining from her face. ‘But I—you can’t—’

  ‘Stop echoing my words. You know perfectly well what I’m referring to.’

  ‘But I don’t, Nicholas,’ she protested wildly. ‘Why are you accusing me?’ She looked blindly about her, as though to search for some means of convincing him that he was making a dreadful mistake. ‘I don’t understand,’ she repeated. ‘Dennis didn’t even kiss me goodnight. It’s—’

  ‘This was no innocent goodnight kiss,’ Nicholas said icily. ‘Nor was Gerard the person involved.’ Suddenly his controlled calm broke, and there was no mistaking the scorn in his voice. ‘Oh, Tessa, set a value on yourself. If you don’t, no one else will.’

  He paced across the room, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘I know you’re at an awkward age,’ he said tiredly. ‘Young, and rather naïve. And the desire to explore human relationships is bound to be awakening. But a stranger...’ Nicholas stopped, shaking his head, and dropped wearily into a chair. ‘Had it been someone with whom you imagined yourself in love, there might have been an excuse.’

  Tessa only half heard his concluding words.

  Sudden comprehension flooded her with relief. Of course! Sheila and Bill. The ridiculous scarf ... love’s young dream. They were the nucleus of what Nicholas had so bitingly referred to as her promiscuous behaviour. He must have driven home by the riverside route ... Hysterical laughter and surging anger vied for outlet. With difficulty she fought them down. What or whom Nicholas had seen she no longer cared. Her conscience was clear.

  ‘You are perfectly correct, Nicholas, in your statement that I’m young and naïve,’ she said furiously, ‘but not to the extent that you credit me with. It didn’t occur to you to ask if it was me you had seen. No! You accused first.’

  She took a deep breath and went on: ‘As it happens, there is an explanation. One that would be the easiest thing in the world to prove. But I’ve no intention of trying to prove it. If you choose to believe what you wish of me’—Tessa turned away before he could see the tears that brimmed—‘I—I don’t care!’

  ‘Wait, Tessa!’ He was standing now.

  She stopped at the door and faced him, looking so stricken that he made an involuntary movement towards her. She raised one hand as though to ward him off and added:

  ‘As to my sense of values, your lack of trust in me makes them rather pointless.’

  ‘Tessa ... wait!’ His long strides brought him to the doorway. ‘You’re overwrought.’

  ‘No!’ She tore herself from the grasp on her shoulder, unable to trust her voice to give further utterance without breaking down completely, and fled to the sanctuary of her room.

  CHAPTER IV

  Tessa awakened to a vague sense of depression. As the mists of sleep dispersed, memory of the previous evening flooded back. She shivered, and fumbled warm toes into chilly slippers before she pattered over to the window.

  The air stung cold to her nostrils when she opened the casement and leaned out. A mist hung over the woods like a grey gauze and shrouded the distant hills. Below, the whir of a motor mower drew her gaze to the big, ruddy-cheeked countryman who was guiding it over the lawn.

  Suddenly physical toil seemed the answer to her present mood. There must be some task she could do in the garden, even if it were only the humblest weeding. Decisively, she hunted out an old pair of jeans and a checked cotton shirt.

  When she went down to breakfast and found the dining room empty she gave a sigh of relief. She did not yet feel ready to meet Nicholas. Pouring coffee and helping herself to toast and marmalade, Tessa reflected that part of the blame for the unfortunate scene last night was her own. If I’d quietly explained what had obviously happened ... Sheila’s blue dress so like her own, and the scarf. Instead of which I behaved like a ham tragedy queen, she told herself with wry humour.

  The door opened and Nicholas came in. At the sight of his cold expression all the hurt and resentment erupted to the surface again. She acknowledged his brief ‘Good morning’ in a low voice and returned to her toast. The sound of his chair being drawn back and the chink of his spoon against the saucer seemed painfully loud in the lengthening silence.

  He glanced at the bent head and said quietly: ‘We can’t live in the same house and maintain wounded feelings for any length of time. You might as well face that fact now, Tessa.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be any answer to that.’ She kept her head bowed as she spoke, and he sighed, unwilling to admit that he missed the spontaneous confidences of her childhood and the unhesitating trust she had always placed in him.

  ‘You’ve changed a great deal in the past two years,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘During which I’ve apparently lost your confidence.’

  His mood had imperceptibly softened, and she knew that this was the moment for explanations. But perversity kept her silent. She was not yet prepared to forgive his heavy-handed assumption of her indiscretion and the haste with which he had attacked before she could defend herself.

  ‘You need go back only twelve hours to discover what you have lost,’ she said quietly, and had the satisfaction of seeing her shaft strike home. The shuttered expression returned and he stood up.

  ‘Very well, Tessa. I can’t force your confidence. But for the sake of your own happiness remember my words. Apart from that, your attitude is not exactly contributing towards a pleasant atmosphere.’

  With that he left her.

  At the side of the house, hidden by the hedges bordering the wide lawn, was a shallow flight of steps leading down into a small sunken garden. To this Tessa turned her footsteps. Sheltered, yet facing the sun, it had been a favourite retreat of Mrs. Maythorne’s. Now, no one used it, and it had become wild and overgrown. The creeping plants had spread, the strong choking their weaker neighbours, and the old stone fountain wore a velvet mantle of moss.

  Gradually a contentment came like a balm as she worked on, forgetful of the time and unaware of the stiff, sore muscles she was storing up for a later hour. She was reluctant to stop and tidy herself for lunch, so engrossed had she become, but, mindful of Nicholas’s words, she slipped into a dress and attempted a composure she had not completely regained when she joined him for lunch. If he noted her glowing cheeks and wondered what she was up to he gave no sign and passed no comment.

  Despite the slight lessening of restraint in the atmosphere, she was thankful when she heard his car go down the drive and she could relax at her self-imposed task. She surveyed the pile of dead leaves she had removed from the bowl of the fountain and decided a wheel-barrow was needed. She went in search of Jim Thomas, the gardener, and found him spraying rose trees. Rather shyly, she made her request, after introducing herself and e
xplaining what she was doing.

  He left his work willingly and brought the wheelbarrow, exclaiming as he manoeuvred it into position at the top of the steps: ‘My, you’ve made a difference. Wait till old Barney gets back and sees this.’

  ‘Old Barney?’ she said in surprise. ‘I thought he retired years ago.’

  Jim Thomas laughed. ‘He’ll go on till he’s a hundred, mark my words.’

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked, shovelling debris into the barrow.

  ‘Laid up with his old enemy—the rheumatics—and cursing as hard as ever. Got his missus nearly demented.’ Jim took the spade from Tessa and added, ‘I’m only filling in here at odd times. Got my own job at Fairgreaves’ farm.’

  ‘Barney sounds as cantankerous as ever,’ Tessa commented, remembering the gnarled old mail whose bark was, nevertheless, worse than his bite, and who had shown an unsuspected soft spot for Tessa in past years.

  ‘Aye. Three boys have come and gone in the last year,’ Jim went on garrulously. ‘Couldn’t abide the old tartar, and he s past it now though he won’t give in.’ Jim straightened and regarded Tessa thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you know what you’re about, miss, but if you intend making any changes in the garden it would pay you to watch your step with the old blighter when he lands back. He tore a right strip off the other young lady that used to come here. Caught her picking his prize roses one day, and when she went all haughty, saying she was Mr. Maythorne’s fiancée, he told her he didn’t care whose financy she was. Them roses were for showing—not for her picking.’

  Tessa listened to this recital in silence. She could picture the scene very well, and had no doubt where her sympathy lay.

  ‘I must go and see old Barney,’ she said, ‘and he can advise me what to put in here.’

  ‘That’ll please him,’ Jim agreed as he departed with the loaded wheelbarrow.

  Alone, she sat on the rim of the fountain and gazed at her handiwork, undecided whether to scrape away the moss that had crept over the stonework or leave it. It did look rather old-world and right, somehow, she thought, and suddenly wondered if she should ask Nicholas if it were possible to get the fountain working again. Absorbed in her plans, she did not hear the soft footsteps approaching.