The Dutch Uncle

by Margery Hilton

  The road wound uphill and Tessa was forced to slow down. Despite the cold she was warm and perspiring. The penetration of damp through her coat, and the snow that had worked in over the top of her shoes, combined to make her feel decidedly uncomfortable. She thought longingly of Meads, dry clothing, and hot fragrant coffee, and wondered if Nicholas had got back, or if he had decided to stay overnight at the gallery.

  Stepping suddenly into an unseen pothole brought her sharply back to the present. Pausing to rub the aching ankle, she realized she was almost up to the lane that led to Fairgreaves’ farm. It would cut off over a mile where the main road looped back in a wide curve. She paused at the opening and stood for a moment undecided. There was that rough bit through the wood at the other end after she had passed the farm. Would it be passable?

  She peered into the dark mouth of the lane, and then looked at the broad, well-lit highway ahead. The bump of the torch at her side made her decision. It had taken her an hour to get this far, and two more miles remained between herself and Meads.

  Also, she was hungry. The food she hadn’t wanted earlier in the day would be very acceptable at the moment, she thought ruefully, turning firmly into the uninviting darkness.

  The way lay straight and level until the place where it entered the farm gate; there it petered out, and the torch beam glimmered on the stile she must climb to cross Farmer Fairgreaves’ hayfield. After dropping the torch and her handbag in turn Tessa was on the brink of exasperated tears. One thing to scramble over a stile in bright summer sunshine, another matter altogether when hampered by heavy winter clothing.

  Snow had stopped falling, for which she was thankful, and a leaden sky showed signs of clearing. As long as she followed the fence she couldn’t go wrong, Tessa assured herself, aware that her previous feeling of warmth had dissipated and the icy wind was finding its way through every chink in her clothing.

  Would the field never end? Surely this wasn’t the way she had come so often in summer. On and on; a post, a wire, a post, a wire, her feet sliding and slithering under her. Tessa was frightened by the time she reached the gate at the far end of the field. Below, the rough steps dropped down into the blackness of the wood, now silent and menacing, no longer a place of leafy charm and trilling birdsong.

  Shivering, she pushed the gate open enough to squeeze through and began the descent.

  The trees closed round her, sombre and secret, their gaunt boughs fretted overhead with lace-like icing. Brushwood reached out rough dead tangles to snatch at her clothing and the white paths branched and intertwined among the trees. After ten minutes of stumbling, Tessa realized she was lost.

  There was no path, only a maze of white ribbons. Fool, she almost whispered aloud. Fool to leave the road. She halted, looking desperately for a landmark she recognized. The moon peeped through the clouds, and she thought the trees thinned to her left. Plunging forward eagerly, she failed to heed the ominous cracking underfoot. She gave a gasp of alarm as the snow gave way under her feet.

  At that moment the moon sailed high. Steely blue light flooded down, transforming stark black and white silhouettes into a silver glade. With surging relief Tessa recognized her whereabouts.

  She was at the edge of the pool; the glass-like crackle was ice. But which end of the pool? And where was the path? Tessa bit her lip. Who would have dreamed that a familiar scene could seem so utterly alien in snow-mantled darkness? Cautiously she backed from the ice, seeking the log where she had so often sat, sketchbook in hand, dreaming. Then a hidden obstruction brought her stumbling to her knees. Her out-thrust hand encountered rough bark beneath a thin filming of snow. The log. She had only to keep straight ahead and the path to Meads was before her.

  Tessa struggled to her feet, a wave of faintness enveloping her, and took an unsteady step forward. Then she saw the movement through the trees and the dark figure loom towards her. A scream died in her throat as she plunged down into rushing darkness.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Tessa no longer sensed the cold. She knew only that she was desperately tired. Her stiff lips parted, but no sound came to voice the fear that suddenly flooded back to her. Someone was slapping her face and she put out feeble hands to repel the attack.

  ‘Tessa!’

  The voice sounded far away as she felt herself pulled into a sitting position. She opened her eyes, not quite believing that it was his voice she heard.

  Nicholas was alternately chafing her hands and shaking her.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said stupidly. ‘Susan was lost and I thought I saw a ghost, and then I fainted.’

  ‘Oh, Tessa!’ He sounded faintly indulgent of fancies. ‘Never mind’—as she opened pale lips to protest— are you hurt?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She started to scramble up, looking for her handbag and seeing that he held it.

  ‘I couldn’t find the path and—and—’ She stopped.

  He wasn’t listening, and it was easier to let him half drag, half carry her over the deep snow. The amber lights glowed through the trees and she saw the red tail lights of the car. She’d been so near, after all, she thought dazedly as Nicholas opened the car door and bundled her inside. She was vaguely aware of him groping for a rug and throwing it over her, then thrusting a flask to her mouth. She gasped as the fiery liquid seared her throat, and pushed his hand away.

  ‘Yes, Tessa.’ Insistently he made her swallow the brandy, waiting until a tinge of colour crept into her cheeks before he started the car. Then his secondary fear was realized. The wheels churned madly, and despite his skilful efforts born of long driving experience the car would make no headway on the incline.

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to walk, Tessa.’

  There was no reply, and he shook her shoulder sharply.

  ‘No, Nicholas.’ The words came, slurred and slowly. ‘Let me—go to—sleep—please.’

  His mouth compressed grimly as he yanked her unceremoniously out of the car. His arm round her waist, he urged her on over the short remaining distance to Meads. At the curve of the drive she stopped, hanging on to his shoulder with one hand while she pressed the other to her side.

  ‘I can’t,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve got a stitch—and I feel sick.’ She groaned, and felt impatient arms swing her aloft and carry her into the house.

  Nicholas went straight to the study, and before removing his own overcoat pulled off her soaked outdoor clothing and pushed her into the armchair before the fire. In a few methodical minutes he had set a kettle on a low heat, put soup in a pan, collected a blanket, and started a bath running.

  She was still huddled where he had left her, too spent to protest as he removed the sodden brogues and deftly unbuttoned her cardigan.

  ‘I’m so cold.’ She shivered violently as he pulled her upright and wrapped the blanket round her.

  ‘You’ll soon be warm again if you do as you’re told,’ he said sharply. Without further preamble he hustled her upstairs into the warm steamy bathroom.

  Only then did she divine his intent and struggled feebly, clutching the blanket with white frozen fingers.

  ‘Someone must do this,’ he said, briskly shaking soap flakes into the water. ‘Come on, Tessa, this is no time for fake modesty. I can’t risk you fainting or falling asleep in the bath.’

  Impatient of her trembling fingers, he quickly peeled off her remaining garments. ‘Now scrub,’ he commanded, throwing the loofah into the bath. ‘Unless you want me to do it.’

  He sat on the stool with his back to her. After a little while he asked, ‘Finished?’ At her muffled ‘Yes’ he reached for the big bath sheet and quickly cloaked the slender, dripping body.

  ‘Stand still. I’m going to rub—hard.’

  She gave an involuntary gasp, then felt the glow and tingle of circulation returning to numb limbs. Through the misted mirror she saw him go out, and hastily reached for her talcum and puff.

  When he came back with
her slippers and nightgown she had wrapped the towel sarong-wise round now rosy limbs and was pinning up her damp hair.

  He said gruffly, ‘I’ve brought my dressing gown. The thing hanging on the back of your bedroom door looks very pretty but not warm enough for this time of year.’

  He turned abruptly, and added over his shoulder as he went out: ‘Don’t be too long. I expect the kettle has boiled dry by now.’

  ‘I won’t.’ A tender smile curved her mouth as he blundered away and she let the towel fall to the floor.

  When she went downstairs, holding up the much-too-long dressing gown, he had placed the low coffee table in front of the fire. On it steamed a large bowl of soup, and the delicious fragrance of coffee drifted from the jug keeping hot on the hearth.

  A wave of shyness enveloped her as she watched the hands that had rubbed her down a few minutes ago ladling soup into two bowls. But his prosaic question as she sat dispelled this.

  ‘When did you last eat, Tessa?’

  She thought back, and glanced up at the clock with dismayed recollection. ‘Lunchtime, but I wasn’t very hungry then.’ She saw his frown and added hastily, ‘I had cups of tea at Mary’s, but with all the worry the thought of food never occurred to me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised that you felt faint,’ he said grimly. ‘And I poured brandy into you,’ he added ruefully. ‘No wonder you wanted to go to sleep in the car. Now not another word until you’ve eaten.’

  Obediently she began on the soup while he put another log on the fire. The flames danced and darted, sending their radiance into the quiet room. On an impulse she did not try to analyse, Tessa got up and switched off the centre light, leaving only the alcove brackets alight.

  Nicholas glanced curiously at her as she returned to her chair, but made no comment. Meeting his gaze, she coloured a little and tried, somewhat haltingly, to explain.

  ‘When the firelight is bright, and the night is silent, the velvet folds of the curtains become columns of shadows, shutting out the real world. The Dresden figures step out of the darkness, and if you stare very hard for a long time without blinking, you can almost see them dance their stately measure.’ She paused, her eyes wide and luminous, then went on softly, ‘And if you are very still, you can hear the faint rustle of brocade from the lady who once sat at that Sheraton bureau, holding a taper to the tall candles.’

  Nicholas stayed silent, unmoving, his face hidden in the shadows while Tessa wove her web of fantasy. Then she broke the bubble herself, shaking her head and giving a small, sighing smile while she reached for the coffee jug.

  She said suddenly, ‘Hasn’t Florence got back?’

  ‘No. She’s staying overnight with her sister. It would have been foolish to attempt the return journey in these conditions, as I told her when she telephoned.’

  ‘I left a note for her. It’s probably still propped against the tea caddy,’ she said carelessly.

  ‘Where?’ Nicholas sat up sharply.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ she replied, a little startled by his tone.

  ‘There was no note when I got home.’

  ‘It must have fallen down somewhere—I was in a hurry. But does it matter now?’

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘No, but if I’d known where you were I could have met you. Florence—when she telephoned—knew nothing of your plans, and as the hours passed I was a bit worried, until I decided you were with Gerard. Then I noticed the signs you’d left of a hurried departure—cards scattered, and your transistor still playing.’

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked, staring into the fire.

  ‘Mary telephoned to see if you’d got back safely. Jim had heard about the crash, you see, and they were rather worried. But I never imagined you would take the short cut.’

  He fell silent and groped for his cigarettes.

  ‘May I have one?’ she asked, aware of a sudden desire to share every companionable action with him, and remembering sadly that soon it would all be over.

  ‘Taking to another vice,’ he remarked, passing over his case. ‘Nightclubs and champagne—do you feel better now?’ he added, leaning forward to light her cigarette and smiling a little when she tried not to splutter.

  ‘Wonderful.’ She curled her feet under the warm folds of his dressing gown and relaxed back. ‘Thanks to you, Nicholas.’

  Gazing reflectively at the blue tendrils of smoke, she said in a low voice: ‘I’ve been quite a hindrance to you, I’m afraid, during the past months, but never intentionally.’ She glanced sideways at him, but could not see him smile in the shadows. ‘But it won’t be for very long now. You’ll be able to relax and say to yourself, “Thank goodness!” ’

  ‘Do you feel you’ve been such a tremendous responsibility?’ he said in an expressionless voice. ‘As I’ve certainly endeavoured to avoid giving you the impression that I considered you a’—his tone hardened—‘hindrance.’

  ‘Oh, no! I—I didn’t mean that you—I only thought—’ Becoming confused, she stopped.

  ‘I think it’s time you caught up with that sleep you were so anxious to have in my car,’ he said suddenly, with a trace of his old, sardonic humour.

  ‘I suppose so.’ She stood up, conscious of weariness, and began to gather up the crockery they had used.

  ‘Leave those.’ The words sounded irritable, and she put the cups back on the table and turned towards the door. Before she could say goodnight the quiet room was filled with the clamour of the phone.

  Nicholas moved quickly to it, indifference, puzzlement, and then dawning comprehension chasing over his expression. He held out the receiver. ‘It’s for you, Tessa—from Ireland.’

  ‘From Ireland? For me?’ She stood staring at him.

  ‘Hurry,’ he said impatiently, and she moved forward, feeling suddenly cold. The line faded and crackled as she said, ‘Tessa here—who—?’

  ‘Hello, darling.’ From a long way off the laughing voice tinkled across space, and Tessa felt the room whirling about her.

  She gripped the edge of the desk and cried, ‘Angie! Where are you?’

  ‘We’re grounded at Shannon because of the storm.’ Faint but clear, her mother’s words penetrated the vortex of emotion in which Tessa was spinning. ‘We should have been with you early tomorrow—it was to have been a surprise. Did you get my letter?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tessa realized with relief that the room had become stable once more. Angie and her surprises!

  ‘Martin is here—he’s longing to meet you. Oh, we’ve so much to tell you. But I must go now—I’m absolutely dead!’ Angie concluded in her usual extravagant manner. ‘See you very soon. Goodnight, darling. It won’t be long now.’

  The line went dead. It won’t be long now. The words reiterated in her brain as she groped towards the receiver rest.

  Nicholas took it gently from her, hand and replaced it. He said:

  ‘Are you looking forward to living in America?’

  Her head lifted sharply. ‘You know! Why didn’t you warn me?’ she cried bitterly.

  ‘I couldn’t warn you. I didn’t know myself until I took the liberty of reading the letter you left among the Christmas cards—a liberty I hope you’ll forgive.’

  She did not reply, and he said quietly, ‘Was it such a shock to you, Tessa? You must have realized that she was bound to marry again. After all, she is still a comparatively young—and extremely attractive—woman.’

  ‘I don’t resent it at all, if, like Florence, that’s what you mean,’ Tessa said more calmly. ‘But why such a hurry? Why not in her own country? And why not tell me until it’s all over?’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Nicholas said with quiet persistence.

  Her whispered ‘No,’ was barely audible.

  In the silence she heard the indrawn breath he took before he asked, ‘Could you be happy at Meads, Tessa?’

  ‘At Meads?’ She stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘What do you mean, Nicholas?’

  ‘Oh,
Tessa,’ he sighed. ‘Your habit of echoing people!’

  ‘I can’t help it.’ She rested her hands on the polished surface of the desk and looked down at them, not daring to believe in what she was surely imagining in his eyes.

  ‘I know.’ His smile was gentle as he tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘But I want an answer—unless you’re planning to marry Gerard.’ His hand dropped away and the smile died from his mouth.

  Her blank stare of amazement was so obviously genuine that he scarcely waited for her emphatic denial before he said, with scarcely concealed impatience:

  ‘So disposing of that eventuality, and incidentally last night’s little session, which we will deal with later—’ He stopped, and she plucked at the tassels hanging from the cord at her waist.

  ‘It was you upstairs—and the tray in the study—you thought...’ She kept her head averted.

  ‘You surely didn’t think it was Florence,’ he said dryly, and she was aware of the old ache returning. ‘When you were so long in the car with Gerard I naturally drew the obvious conclusion.’ Nicholas gave her a small, strange smile and opened a drawer of his deck. ‘You left this down here. I found it this morning.’

  Guiltily, for the first time she remembered the necklace.

  ‘It was rather a valuable item to leave on the floor.’ He slid it across the desk.

  ‘It must have dropped when I—’ Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ she said hopelessly, stuffing the case in her pocket.

  ‘No, it certainly doesn’t.’ His tone was light. ‘We’re losing sight of more important issues. Tessa?’ She remained silent, her glance travelling round the familiar objects in the room. The clock ticked steadily and she stared at the gold pointers as she said in a voice sharpened with weariness:

  ‘How can I, Nicholas? I can’t possibly stay here.’