‘And you’d better take this.’ He drew a softly glittering strand from his pocket. ‘I found it on the floor of the car. You don’t take much more care of your own property than you do of mine.’
He thrust the pendant into her hand, and she took it automatically, seeing the coldness of his glance and the ironic curve of his mouth. She was remembering small, inquisitive fingers attracted to the sparkle, unable to resist returning to it each time it caught the light.
‘I—I hadn’t missed it—it must have dropped when—’ She stopped. She would not justify herself at a child’s expense. Nicholas was too hasty in his accusations of carelessness. Her cheeks burning, she rushed upstairs to attend to her knee. By the time she had done so, and splashed her face liberally with cold water, she had regained her composure sufficiently to rejoin Florence and Nicholas.
He was standing by the fireside when she entered. The soft jingling of the car-keys he still held betrayed a restlessness not discernible in his cool expression.
He spoke without preamble, after motioning her to sit down.
‘Tessa, I want you to accept Jane’s invitation. Immediately.’
CHAPTER IX
‘Telephone,’ said Nicholas, when Tessa got out her writing pad after the evening meal was over, and within a few minutes she found herself speaking to a somewhat surprised but delighted Jane.
Pleasure at hearing her friend’s voice again helped to mitigate her shock at the abruptness of Nicholas’s sudden dictate, but she could not altogether stifle a feeling of hurt at the speed with which he completed the arrangements. Florence was to take her overdue holiday, the cats were to be boarded with the local vet, Meads was to be closed, and Nicholas himself, under pressure of various business matters, was moving into the gallery flat.
Almost as though he wanted to get rid of us, Tessa reflected three days later as the train moved slowly out of Marchfield station. Though Florence did need a break, Tessa admitted, realizing how the year was imperceptibly passing. The three months she had been at Meads seemed to have flown. Friars’ Dene, and the flat that had never felt like home, had dwindled to memories. Only Meads was etched sharply; Meads—and Nicholas.
Tessa stared out of the window and thought of her mother’s return. When that time came would she still see Nicholas sometimes, or would their lives divide again? And would he marry Christine?
Abruptly Tessa opened her magazine; trying to foretell those answers was too painful.
The journey passed uneventfully, and at last the train approached York, where she made her final change. Jane was meeting her at Scarborough and they would complete the journey by car. Eagerly she scanned the groups of people clustered along the platform, shivering as she left the warm stuffy atmosphere of the compartment and met the sharp tang of north-country air sweeping through the station.
Then she saw Jane running and frantically waving at the other side of the barrier, and a few moments later Jane was hugging her and explaining breathlessly.
‘There was a diversion—thought I’d never get here— then there wasn’t a parking place. Whew! Give me your case.’ She pushed the case in the back of the car and scrambled in. ‘Now give—all the news.’
‘There isn’t much to give.’ Tessa smiled. ‘We’re in the heart of the countryside. It’s very peaceful.’
‘I don’t mean village events.’ Jane pulled a face. ‘How’s life with Nicholas? And is the glamorous clothes-peg still in the offing? Honestly, Tessa, you exasperate me. Not a word about the important things when you write.’
Jane slowed to avoid a child on a wobbling bicycle. ‘You’d better save it all till we get home. You don’t mind sharing with me, do you? Only we’ve still got Aunt Ellen with us, and I thought you’d rather be in with me than up in the attics next door to Tim. He’s just bought himself a second-hand guitar.’ Jane grimaced expressively. ‘It’s agony.’
Tessa relaxed, content to listen and watch the grey ribbon of road dipping and twisting over the moor. During her last holiday with Jane, the previous summer, the moor had been a billowing sea of heather, vividly shaded and broken with the rough verdure of bracken and the dappled clusters of black-faced moorland sheep. Now the brown desolate stretches struck a responding echo in her heart, and she closed her eyes as a wave of nostalgia recalled the sunswept carefree days when the future held only the longed-for final year at school with its prefect’s privileges and the option of dress at weekends. Jane’s voice roused her from her reverie.
‘I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I said. Still the little dreamer!’
The scattered farms and cottages were becoming more numerous now as they approached the village and the square stone house where Jane lived. Her father was a doctor, whose practice covered two neighbouring villages and several hamlets further up the valley.
His black Ford pulled from the gate as Jane’s Mini came down the hill. He slowed and stopped as he came abreast of them, greeting Tessa affectionately and glancing ostentatiously round the Mini. ‘Hm! No arguments on the way.’ He winked at Tessa. ‘Passed her driving test last month—sheer fluke, of course.’ Laughing, he drove on, and Jane indignantly manoeuvred through the gate.
Lights began to twinkle through the gathering dusk as Jane led the way inside.
‘Don’t draw the curtains yet,’ Tessa begged, as Jane, having dumped her outdoor things on the bed, moved towards the window. ‘I like to look up at the hills and watch the lights come on one by one in the cottages among the trees.’
‘And follow the headlights of the cars as they wind down into the valley,’ Jane concluded for her. ‘Come on, I’m starving.’
The initial restraint soon passed, and Tessa forgot her shyness when eleven-year-old Tim launched into an impromptu impersonation of two lady artists who were staying in the village.
‘Now that will do, Tim,’ Mrs. Rossvale said quietly. ‘We don’t amuse ourselves at your expense when you try to play your guitar.’
Tim subsided, but mischief still lurked in his eyes.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t encourage him,’ Jane sighed when they settled by the fire with their coffee. ‘But we get some quaint types here, particularly in the summer.’ Tessa smiled. ‘I won’t dare unpack my sketchbook when he’s around.’
‘Guess who I bumped into in Leeds last week,’ Jane said suddenly. ‘Belle.’
‘The bathing beauty?’
‘None other. And she’s married!’
Tessa expressed appropriate surprise, remembering Belle, a tall buxom schoolgirl with a maturity beyond her years, who had been expelled the previous year after entering and winning a Beauty Queen competition at a holiday camp. Unfortunately for poor Belle, the contest had been televised. Most of the school had gurgled over their TV sets as they recognized Belle, poured into white satin lastex, being presented with a crown, a cheque, a bouquet, and an oozy kiss from the reigning pop singer of the time.
‘No one dreamed she’d have the nerve to come back after that,’ Jane said reminiscently. ‘Remember when the pop singer decided to call on Belle at school? The screams from the juniors.’
‘And the faces of the staff. Oh dear! She just had to go after that.’
They fell into a meditative silence, broken by Tessa when she glanced at the clock and registered consternation.
‘I promised to ring Nicholas as soon as I arrived and it’s nearly eleven. May I use your phone?’
‘Help yourself.’ Jane leaned back. ‘It’s Eskbridge for trunks—no STD yet, I’m afraid.’
It seemed an interminable length of time before Tessa, perched on the hard little stool in the hall, heard the dialling tone of the London number, its sudden cessation, and the voice of the local operator saying ‘Go ahead, caller.’
‘Hello,’ said Tessa tentatively. Then her eyes widened with puzzlement as a soft, husky voice said:
‘Yes? Who’s speaking?’
‘I’m afraid I must have got the wrong number,’ Tessa began apologetically. ‘I wanted Mr.
Maythorne—’ She quoted the number.
‘Oh.’ The voice sounded amused. ‘You’ve got the right number, darling, but Mr. Maythorne isn’t here at the moment.’ A slight pause, then, ‘It’s Tessa, isn’t it?’
A chill crept round her heart. She had recognized the voice at last.
‘Can I give him a message?’ Christine asked sweetly. ‘I suppose you want to let him know that you got there all right, and all the rest of it.’ She broke off, and Tessa could hear a muted interchange at the other end.
Then Nicholas spoke, sounding so close that he seemed to be beside her in the subdued light of the hall.
‘Tessa?’
‘Yes, Nicholas,’ she whispered.
‘I presume you are speaking from Jane’s. What time did you arrive?’
‘Just after six.’
‘Any adventures on the journey?’
‘No.’
She thought he sighed, and she said in a small stiff voice, ‘Jane met me. I’ve had a meal, and I’m all right. So you can forget about me and relax for a couple of weeks or so.’
His tone changed. ‘Very well. If you must behave like the spoilt child you sound tonight, I suppose I must treat you like one. Does independence still mean so much to you that you resent concern for your welfare?’
She bit her lip as she sensed his weariness. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said unhappily. ‘I’m rather tired.’
‘I expect you are,’ he said coldly. ‘If anything untoward occurs you know where to contact me. Goodnight, Tessa, and thank you for ringing.’
The line clicked before she could make the automatic response, and she replaced the receiver and stared at the notepad and pencil on the table. Her thoughts were a turmoil from which one emerged insistently. Christine was with him in the flat; now. Sharing the intimate atmosphere of the tiny bachelor flat which Tessa had never entered.
She was still sitting, bemused and unseeing, when a key grated in the lock and Dr. Rossvale entered.
If he was surprised, he gave no sign, smiling as he said: ‘Made your duty call?’
She replied with a forlorn nod, and he looked down at her. ‘Hm, time my daughter did her duty by her guest. Jane!’
His shout brought Jane running from the lounge.
‘Now then, lass,’ he lapsed into dialect, ‘little ‘un’s had a long day. Bed. Pronto!’ He rumpled Tessa’s head and dealt his grinning daughter a hefty smack on her rear.
Halfway between laughter and tears, Tessa followed Jane upstairs.
The days passed pleasantly and the weather remained dry and sunny, if rather cold. Tessa watched the post each morning, half hoping for some word from Nicholas. When, towards the end of her second week, a letter did arrive it was disappointingly brief. He told her that Florence would be returning that weekend, and reminded Tessa to let him know when she proposed coming back.
Tessa looked up and met Jane’s glance. With a wry smile, she passed the letter over the table.
‘Not exactly overflowing with guardianly affection,’ Jane commented. ‘Of course you know you don’t have to go back this weekend—I mean as far as we’re concerned.’
Tessa hesitated, torn between a reluctance to leave the friendly, easy-going atmosphere of Jane’s home and a longing to be near Nicholas again. Then she remembered Christine, and steeled herself against the painful longing. She would not go rushing back to Meads this weekend just because he was coming home and her foolish heart urged her to forget all pride. She would write airily, telling him she had no intention of returning for ages yet. But wait, she must ensure that she didn’t impose too heavily on Jane’s parents’ hospitality.
She said slowly, ‘I’m not sure that I want to go back to Meads just yet, but I wouldn’t want to impose on your people too much. I mean I’ve been here two weeks already.’ She hesitated. ‘If we could come to some arrangement whereby I helped—’
Jane sat up sharply, her knife clattering to the floor. Then she burst out, ‘As a paying guest? I thought so. That’s the one thing that infuriates me about you. Your darned independence. What are friends for, for heaven’s sake? If we didn’t want you we certainly wouldn’t ask you,’ she went on in her blunt Yorkshire way. ‘Oh, I know why it is,’ she said as Tessa opened her mouth to protest. ‘It’s the influence of your mother’s background where people don’t mean what they say half the time. You’re so scared of folks being polite. I’m not surprised now that Nicholas makes this’—she waved the sheet of notepaper—‘sound like a business arrangement if you’ve been behaving as though you were there on sufferance.’
Jane leaned forward, having got into her stride.
‘Where would you have been without Nicholas? Stuck alone in the flat, cut off from your friends, with nobody to help you to make the transition from school to adulthood. And this thing you have about Nicholas. Sitting back and waiting for him to notice you’ve grown up won’t get you very far. Nor will jealousy of Christine. If he won’t notice you, use your wiles and make him. Look at yourself! Same old hairstyle tied back, scrubbed face. If he likes sophisticated females you’ll have to fall in line, not moon about like a silly little nit.’ Jane paused for breath. ‘If you want Nicholas you’ll have to fight for him. You get nothing in this world unless you do.’
For a moment Tessa was speechless, not knowing which angle of Jane’s attack to tackle first. Before she could find words, Jane said:
‘Sorry if the sermon shook you, but I believe in speaking my mind. And you do need waking up, Tess.’ Somewhere in Jane’s homily there was a flaw, but at the moment Tessa could not quite elicit it. At last she said, ‘I’m sorry if I huffed you, but I was trying to be considerate.’
‘I know you were.’ Jane smiled impulsively. ‘But you tend to carry independence too far.’
‘That’s what Nicholas said.’ Tessa’s face was thoughtful, then she coloured a little. ‘I always thought that a man liked to make the running.’
‘Huh!’ Jane snorted. ‘Technically, yes. But unfortunately half the felines hunting for prey choose to ignore that. But you think over my advice.’
Jane bent to retrieve her knife, and the subject lapsed. Eventually Tessa decided to stay another week. She wrote a stiff little letter to Nicholas and was not really surprised when no acknowledgement came.
On her last day the two girls went shopping in Scarborough. Tessa selected small tokens for Florence, Mary, and the children, and a thank-you gift for Jane’s mother. She pondered a long time on the question of what to give Nicholas.
‘He’s got everything,’ she said despairingly as Jane made suggestions. At last she chose a silver key chain, and the kindly assistant found a small gift box in which to pack it.
Jane was unusually quiet when she drove Tessa to the station. She waited until Tessa had found an empty compartment and stowed her belongings in the rack before she said seriously:
‘Now don’t forget my advice: Try treating Nicholas like a man, instead of a Dutch uncle. If you lose, you’re no worse off, but at least you’ll know you tried. And,’ Jane glanced out of the window with studied casualness, ‘you might just win.’
The whistle blew, and Jane scrambled hastily off the train. ‘Let me know what happens—and good luck.’ Tessa waved until Jane’s figure diminished and finally vanished from sight as the train roared into the countryside. Curled up in the corner seat, Tessa pondered over her friend’s words. Was Jane right? Had she inadvertently fostered the impression in Nicholas that she still regarded him as a kind of adopted uncle, and someone whose authority she now resented? Tessa sighed. It was all very difficult. For how could she do otherwise? When right from the beginning Nicholas had made it perfectly clear that his role was exactly that— a Dutch uncle. And as for Jane’s advice—unerringly Tessa put her finger on the weak spot. It was all very well to talk about encouragement—if encouragement were needed. But ‘Tessa suspected strongly that Nicholas was not the man on whom to experiment with feminine wiles, wiles on which Jane had not elaborated.
Tessa got out her compact and studied the reflection therein, trying to imagine what Christine would have made of those obstinately little-girl features and soft dark hair that wasn’t sultry black, or beguiling blonde, or sensuous titian.
An invasion of campers put an end to cogitation. Bright-eyed and jolly, they smiled their thanks as she helped them to wriggle their mug-and-pan-behung equipment through the door. For the remainder of the short lap to York she was drawn fleetingly into their cheerful camaraderie, and she missed their chatter when she settled in the express at York and covertly studied the bored, remote faces of her new fellow travellers. With a sense of relief she realized it was lunchtime and made her way down the staying corridor. A warm, smoke-laden fug drifted from the restaurant car, and her distaste deepened as she ate an uninspiring meal. Despite this, she lingered over her coffee, aware of an impatience for the journey to be over.
As she stood up the train lurched, and she stumbled back, colliding with someone behind her. She turned, an instinctive apology coming to her lips, and surprise widened her eyes as a familiar voice cried her name.
‘Well, I’m—Tessa!’
‘Dennis!’
He took her arm. ‘Let’s sit down. This calls for a drink.’ He piloted her to a table and sat down opposite her. ‘Now tell me, have you been on this train since Edinburgh?’
She shook her head, and explained. ‘But why aren’t you driving?’
‘Strained wrist—oh, it’s much better now—so I decided to be lazy.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t get over this. I was bored to distraction and then you turn up like a miracle. Any room in your compartment?’
‘Not when I left it.’
‘That won’t do.’
Impossible not to be infected by his good humour. Hand in hand, they explored the length of the train, peering into compartments and giggling as they withdrew from cold stares or unfriendly mutters.
‘Here we are!’ Dennis exclaimed triumphantly, flinging out his arm. ‘In you go and spread yourself while I fetch the luggage.’
The Dutch Uncle Page 11