The Dutch Uncle

by Margery Hilton

  She was conscious of a rising defiance as Dennis guided her into a quickstep.

  ‘Why so fierce?’ Expertly he turned her, in contrast to Col’s shambling efforts previously.

  ‘I’m planning my future.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘And I’m asking advice from no one.’

  ‘Champagne sometimes has that effect.’ Dennis gave her a sly glance. ‘You’d better have another bottle—and plan a bit more. Have a look. Everybody—simply everybody has turned up tonight.’

  She followed the direction of his eyes and missed a step.

  Nicholas was passing. His lean handsome face was immobile, and only a bluish sheen distinguished the dark hair against his shoulder from the midnight blue of his dinner jacket.

  Tessa’s gaze took in the deep, emerald richness of velvet against Christine’s opalescent skin. Blue-shadowed, black-lashed lids hid slumbrous eyes, and a pendant glowed fiercely at the creamy throat. The hand resting on Nicholas’s shoulder was ringless.

  Silently Dennis swung Tessa away, his hold tightening as he felt the tiny sigh she gave. His lips brushed fleetingly over her hair, and no inkling of his motive occurred to her as she suddenly met Christine’s icy gaze before the crowd swirled between them.

  Back at their table, she demurred as Dennis opened a fresh bottle of champagne.

  ‘Go on,’ he taunted, ‘be a little devil. After all, you’re quite safe. He’s taking you home—not me.’ He grinned, and moved away. ‘Take pity on the pavement artist, there’s a good girl.’

  Col looked so crestfallen still that she impulsively took his hand. ‘Come on, I’ll forgive you if you get through this without standing on my toes.’ Her smile was brilliant; the champagne was working its old special magic. ‘And for heaven’s sake, cheer up, Col! All my life I’ve never known what my mother would do next. Why should I worry now?’

  She floated softly as thistledown, her dress billowing out, then returning to mould her slender body with the rise and fall of her movements. Something of her lightness and gaiety entered into Col, and he found his feet obeying the rhythm despite his nervousness.

  This time she had the satisfaction of seeing Nicholas’s brows rise in a perceptible twitch as the two couples passed. He acknowledged her bright smile with a grave inclination of his head.

  When she left the floor she found him waiting by their table. The orchestra began a waltz, and she slipped into the arms he held open, giving a little sigh and surrendering herself to the moment. The lights dimmed, and it seemed there was only herself and the wonder of Nicholas holding her.

  Characteristically he did not ask her if she was enjoying herself, merely saying, ‘Happy?’

  ‘Very now,’ she replied graphically and without thinking.

  ‘Now?’ His mouth quirked at the corners, and his arms seemed to draw her more close.

  ‘I was worried before,’ she confided. ‘Someone said something disturbing about Angie.’

  Nicholas looked down at her. ‘What about Angie?’

  She repeated Col’s remarks, and he said:

  ‘Who’s the new boy-friend, anyway?’ Tessa explained, and Nicholas seemed unconcerned.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry. I should imagine that Angie would have informed us of any major change in her plans.’ The music came to an end, and reluctantly Tessa stepped back as Nicholas’s arms dropped away.

  ‘Time for the cabaret,’ he said. ‘Then it’s time for us to go, I’m afraid. I’ll meet you in the foyer afterwards.’

  His tall figure disappeared, among the clusters of couples leaving the floor, and she took her place beside Dennis and Col as the cabaret was announced.

  When the spotlights died and the lights came on, Tessa looked round the ballroom. There was no sign of Nicholas, or Christine. At least he wasn’t escorting her home tonight. Tessa found a small satisfaction in the thought. She bade Dennis and Col goodnight, and went to get her wrap.

  Hoping that ill-luck would not bring Christine to the powder room at that moment, she pushed open the door, then turned as scampering footsteps rushed along the corridor behind her and a voice called her name.

  ‘Tessa! It is you—I’ve been trying to catch your eye for the last hour.’

  Sparkling green eyes and an elfin grin danced towards her. ‘Yes, it’s the imp from Whipsnade,’ Miranda grinned. ‘One day I’ll start scratching and really shake ‘em. Come on in, I must talk to you.’

  She sat on a stool and dragged a comb through her unruly red locks. ‘I suppose you’ve heard the news?’

  Tessa saw the bright smile had faded. ‘What news?’

  ‘She’s ditched him!’

  ‘She’s—who...?’ Tessa stared bewilderedly.

  ‘Christine.’ Miranda’s mouth tightened. ‘She’s finished with Bob Gleadon—my Bob Gleadon. Oh, how I hate her guts,’ she said viciously. ‘After breaking it up between him and me she’s now decided she doesn’t want him—the bitch!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tessa, feeling the words to be somewhat inadequate.

  ‘But I’ll get him back,’ Miranda said airily. ‘Never fear. His mother still writes to me, you know. She was terribly upset when he jilted me.’ Her face softened. ‘She’s a darling.’

  Remembering the gentle Helen Gleadon, Tessa agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Would you want him back, after...?’ Tessa stopped doubtfully.

  ‘I happen to love him.’ Miranda stared dolefully at the new outline of lipstick she had applied. ‘And when he’s got over his infatuation for that man-eater I hope he’ll realize he still loves me. You see,’ a gleam came into her eyes, ‘he bumped into me today, accidentally on purpose, of course, in the place where we used to eat. We talked, a bit awkwardly at first, and he told me about it. But I’m not going to make it easy for him this time,’ she added darkly. ‘He’ll have to dance to my tune before I fall into his arms again.’

  Tessa watched her apply liberal dabs of perfume behind her ears. Jane was right, she reflected wryly. Love is a jungle where the best man—or woman, she amended—won.

  ‘Now she’s looking for new blood.’ Miranda stood up and inspected the seams of her nylons. ‘And it’s my guess it’ll be either Dennis Gerard or that smashing man you’ve been staying with. So if you’ve a yen for either of them ... Be warned, my dear,’ Miranda ended softly.

  Tessa went thoughtfully into the foyer, shivering a little as the cooler air touched her skin. No guesswork was needed to know where Christine’s predatory desire was aimed. And with what weapons could she be fought? thought Tessa sadly, hoping that Miranda, at least, would win back her heart’s desire.

  There was no sign of Nicholas. Had he perhaps tired of waiting and gone to seek her? Then she noticed a door on her left stood partly open. Muted voices came from within, a low-pitched husky feminine tone blended with a deeper, and suddenly recognizable voice. As Tessa hesitated, the door opened and Christine swept out. She threw Tessa a brief, almost malevolent smile and marched towards the ballroom. A moment later Nicholas emerged, his overcoat over the crook of his arm.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ He pushed open the glass door.

  ‘I quite understand.’ Tessa raised her head with a pertness normally foreign to her nature.

  ‘You don’t,’ he said briefly, holding the door for her. Something in his look made her lower her eyes as they went down the stairs and out into the night.

  ‘I want to pick up something from the gallery before we go back.’ Nicholas eased the car out of its parking place. ‘It won’t take us long.’

  He did not speak again until they reached the quiet square where the gallery was situated. He switched off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition, and instructed Tessa to wait in the car.

  Left alone, she peered through the window and listened to the rumble of traffic from the never-silent main road at the far side of the square. The minutes ticked by, and lengthened as she waited impatiently. Then she heard the measured tread approach the car, slow down, and stop.

  A large police
man looked in.

  She lowered the window rather tremulously and gazed up at him.

  ‘All right, miss?’

  She nodded, and he moved on. When he was out of sight Tessa got out of the car, carefully pressing the catches that locked the car from the inside, and went into the entrance. She followed the stream of light and saw Nicholas in his office, stuffing tissue paper into a large cardboard box. He spun round, and bit back an exclamation as he saw her.

  ‘Did you think I was a burglar?’ she asked.

  ‘The possibility did occur. Why don’t you do as you’re told?’

  ‘I was cold.’ Her muffled voice came up from the fur collar of her wrap. ‘And a large, very suspicious policeman came and asked me if I was all right.’

  ‘Oh.’ Nicholas was searching for the lid. ‘Damn! It’s too small.’

  Perched on the edge of his desk, she watched his efforts. Usually calm and economical in his movements, tonight he seemed flurried and irritable. She huddled deeper into her wrap and tried to prevent her eyelids from drooping.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t go to sleep!’

  She opened her eyes and stiffed a yawn. ‘I could drink a cup of coffee. Strong and hot and black.’

  Unwillingly he smiled. ‘On top of champagne! Oh, Tessa.’ A pause, then, ‘I suppose we could rustle up some coffee, but I hope you’re not hungry as well.’ He tossed a key into her lap. ‘You’d better see what you can find, but I don’t keep much in the provender line in the flat unless I’m staying here.’

  She crossed to the door, then stopped, a question in her eyes.

  ‘Oh, I forgot. You’ve never been up there. First door on the right of the second landing.’

  She ascended the broad, softly carpeted stairs to the first floor; passed the bow-fronted mahogany and carved ebony, the lustrous dragon shapes and the gilt-scrolled porcelain, the brass filigree and mellowed tones of tapestry, and on towards the second, narrower flight of stairs. The Yale lock yielded smoothly to the key, and she let herself into the flat.

  Compared to Meads, it was spartanly furnished, though tastefully decorated. She looked round curiously, aware that she was seeing a facet of Nicholas she did not know. Two doors opened from the small lounge, and she went to one, standing hesitantly on the threshold. She saw a narrow, neatly made bed, a small dressing chest, and a single, ladder-backed chair.

  ‘The kitchen’s here.’

  Startled, she turned. ‘I—I didn’t hear you come in,’ Hastily she went into the tiny kitchenette and sought cups, milk and a saucepan. She switched on the electric boiling ring, and explored the two cupboards.

  In the lounge, Nicholas subsided into an armchair and listened to the chink of crockery. The unmistakeable hiss of milk boiling over, and the ensuing scurry, made him smile. Presently she came in bearing a tray with the coffee, and a plate of biscuits she was eyeing dubiously.

  She ignored the chair he had pulled forward, and dropped on to the rug below the panel heater set in the wall, curling her feet under her skirts. ‘What was in the box you were packing?’ she asked idly, sipping her coffee. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

  Without replying, he leaned back and reached towards a table behind his chair. ‘It’s for you. You may find it interesting.’

  She lifted the lid and delved into the tissue paper, frowning as she felt the mysterious outlines in the depths. Then her questing hands drew forth and discarded the last wrapping.

  ‘Nicholas! It’s the swan! It’s almost identical—how did you find it?’ Her face rapt, she held the fragile object and turned it carefully in her hands. Then her expression clouded as memory came flooding back.

  He watched her closely while she laid it reverently in its box, then said: ‘I would like to hear your version of just what did happen that night.’

  She touched the delicately curved glass and slowly replaced the tissue covering. ‘Was it terribly expensive to replace?’

  ‘Don’t ask pertinent questions. And please don’t offer to pay for it.’

  She said slowly, ‘Would Helen know that it wasn’t the same? Did you ever tell?’

  Nicholas leaned forward and took the box from her hands. He said sharply, ‘Stop being evasive, Tessa, and answer my question. Or do you prefer being a martyr?’

  ‘No!’ Goaded into admission, she cried hotly, ‘I didn’t have much choice at the time. Would you have believed me if I’d denied the breakage?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted, frowning. ‘Looking back, it was cleverly done.’

  Startled, she looked up at him. ‘You know?’

  ‘I met Gerard in town the week after you went to Jane’s.’ Nicholas paused to light a cigarette. ‘We had lunch together, and he asked after you. During the course of the conversation the telephone call he’d made that night came up. I knew nothing of it, and I was surprised when he asked me what caused the crash he’d heard. By that time I was interested, and we tried to piece together what had happened. He heard the noise and you stopped speaking, then he heard voices and knew he hadn’t been cut off. Then the line went dead.’

  ‘I think I dropped the receiver,’ said Tessa, remembering.

  ‘It puzzled him,’ Nicholas went on, ‘and it puzzled me, for a different reason, of course. Unless someone had moved it, the swan stood on a table at least eight feet from the telephone. It would have been a physical impossibility for you to have knocked it flying at that precise moment.’ Nicholas stopped, and looked steadily at her. ‘Why did you allow yourself to be blamed unjustly? Surely your first reaction should have been self-defence. Or, even if you had done the damage, some kind of explanation. But you just stood and took it.’ Nicholas raised his hands. ‘Why, Tessa? What was your reason?’

  She glanced past him, her eyes reflective. Dennis’s cryptic remarks about putting things right were now clear.

  ‘It really was an accident,’ she began. ‘Christine’— she stumbled a little over the name—‘caught it with her bag as she passed, and—and—’

  ‘And?’ Nicholas prompted, his mouth grim.

  ‘She suggested that the cats might be blamed,’ Tessa said unhappily. ‘Then you came in and somehow it all just happened.’

  ‘Yes, I remember very well. But why did you allow her to shift the blame?’ he persisted, angry now.

  ‘Because I thought you were going to marry her.’ Tessa’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  ‘Oh, Tessa!’ He stood up and paced across the room. ‘How could I be going to marry her when she was practically engaged to another man?’

  ‘She came to my room the next morning, to borrow some nail varnish remover—she’d spilt hers—’

  ‘So that’s what happened to the dressing table in the corner bedroom!’ Nicholas interrupted. ‘Never mind, go on, Tessa.’

  ‘She thanked me for not giving her away, and said it was important to her. She told me she couldn’t go through with her marriage to Bob—that she’d made a dreadful mistake—and you would understand as she knew you were still in love with her.’

  ‘You did have a cosy heart-to-heart.’ Nicholas swung round furiously. ‘You might as well tell me the rest.’

  ‘There isn’t any more. I didn’t want to provoke a quarrel with her while the Gleadons were there. You’d warned me about that previously,’ Tessa reminded him, ‘And the damage was done. There didn’t seem much point in arguing.’ She raised her hands in an oddly appealing gesture. ‘If it helped to make your reconciliation easier...’ The softly spoken words trailed off.

  Nicholas stubbed out his cigarette with jerky, irritable jabs. ‘We always seem to come back to Christine—whom I have no intention of marrying.’

  Tessa looked up sharply, and saw a cynical smile touch his lips.

  ‘I realized a long time ago that she regarded me as a profitable acquisition, and, forgive me being crude, she only wanted to legalize our going to bed together. The other aspects of marriage did not appeal to her in the least,’ he added bitterly.

 
The relief of vindication combined with the implication of this unexpected divulgence had visibly affected Tessa. Despite her efforts to remain calm, her eyes pricked and his face blurred before her. She turned her head away hastily as he continued to speak.

  ‘You caught the end of the little scene earlier this evening when you so blasély assured me that you “understood.” I had suddenly decided to confront her with my suspicions and put an end to the farce of our affair once and for all.’

  He moved nearer to Tessa and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry you had to become involved with my affairs and caused unhappiness through no fault of your own.’

  She put the cups on the tray, not trusting herself to speak coherently, and above the noise of the running tap heard him say:

  ‘Must you start washing dishes at this tune of night? For heaven’s sake, leave them! It’s time we started back.’

  Obeying the underlying note of impatience in his voice, she slipped into the wrap he held for her and waited on the stairhead while he switched off the lights. Then she gave a small exclamation and turned back hurriedly, colliding with him in the doorway. For a long moment his hands steadied her, then she said, ‘The swan—I’ve left it.’ Every sense aware of him, she brushed past and grabbed the box.

  Outside, a large shadow hovered near the car and resolved into the policeman. He came towards them, recognition coming into his expression.

  ‘Thought it was your car, Mr. Maythorne. I’m afraid you’ll have to speak sternly to your young lady.’ He turned a disapproving frown on Tessa. ‘Makes it very easy for the bad lads when you leave the window open. And the keys in the ignition. All ready for them to drive away.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said guiltily. ‘I thought I’d locked it.’