Ernie overtook a juggernaut container lorry. 'A long time ago?' he queried teasingly. 'Couldn't be that long. What are you now, twenty-two, twenty-three?'
His voice startled her out of her painful memories. 'I'm twenty-eight, Ernie, and it was another lifetime.' Because that night of Ishbel's eighteenth birthday party had broken the thread. She had never seen Fraser or Ishbel again.
It had hurt dreadfully that they had followed her stepfather's lead and cut her ruthlessly out of their lives, but it was no more than she had deserved, and after ten years the hurt had blunted to acceptance. She could even wonder what they had done with their lives. They would both be long married by now, of course, perhaps with families of their own. But when she found herself wondering if Fraser had married the glossy Lisa Farraday she found the idea painful. Bethan could still remember their shared laughter, Fraser's and Lisa's, laughing at her, still feel the echoes of the burning humiliation that had seared her.
Silly to let it touch her now. She hadn't thought about Fraser Laurie in years, and she didn't want to think about him now. Resting her head back against the seat she shut her eyes.
'That's right, my dearie, you have a bit of a snooze.'
The car was warm now, the hum of the engine and Ernie's undemanding presence soothing. She drifted into sleep.
The car slowing to take a dog-leg bend roused her. 'We're nearly there, Miss Bethan,' Ernie said as she stirred. and sitting up she found they were following a narrow lane with high hedges either side, so narrow that to pass an oncoming car both vehicles would need to mount the verge. Rounding another bend a sign at the roadside announced the village of Nunsford, and almost at once the high hedges gave way to a straggle of cottages before the road separated to surround an irregular-shaped village green. On one side of the green were more cottages and a mellow red-brick pub, its sign depicting a vine heavy with grapes, and on the other side a small flint church with a quaint barrel tower and a large house that might once have been the vicarage but which, from the gleaming paintwork, immaculate garden and Rolls-Royce parked in the drive Bethan noticed as the car rolled slowly past, looked much too prosperous to still be the home of the minister of such
a small parish. The road wandered on beyond the green, curving round the churchyard with its weathered headstones, and the car followed it, but just when Bethan thought they were leaving the village behind another cluster of buildings came into view, stone-built farm buildings, yet too clean and spruce surely to be part of a working farm, and with no evidence of livestock that she could see. The car crunched on past an entrance signposted, of all things, Visitors' Car Park, and then, beyond a stand of trees, turned off the lane into a gravelled drive. And there stood the most charming house Bethan had ever seen, a long, low house nestling under a thick thatch of Norfolk reed. Tudor, she guessed, the walls between the exposed oak frame of narrow bricks weathered to a glowing rose. The car had hardly stopped before the wide front door flew open and a woman with a mop of frizzy hair wearing a flowered overall peered anxiously out.
'That's my Molly.' Ernie grinned as he released Bethan's seat belt. 'Always expecting the worst to happen is my Molly.' As he got out of the car and came round to open Bethan's door he called across to his wife, 'Here we are, my girl, safe and sound, so you can take that fretting look off your face. This here's Miss Bethan, Molly, come to look after Mrs Lorna.' He drew Bethan forward.
'Time to fret is when I don't worry about you, Ernie Flowerdew,' his wife said tartly, then she smiled as she took Bethan's outstretched hand. 'Come along in now, Miss,' she urged. 'Mrs Ruston's been on thorns waiting for you. Ernie 'll see to your bags.'
Bethan followed her into a wide, oak-beamed hall that ran right through the house to give a glimpse of a sunny garden through the glass doors at the far end. The floor was solid oak and smelt of beeswax while a carved-oak staircase, its shallow treads equally shining, curved away to the upper floor. The housekeeper led the way to double doors to the left of the hall and
pushed them open. 'Nurse Steele's arrived, Mrs Ruston,' she said and stood back for Bethan to enter.
It was a large, comfortably furnished sitting-room, full of light in spite of the low, exposed-beam ceiling. To her left a log fire flickered cosily in the huge inglenook fireplace, but Bethan's eyes were drawn at once to the right, to the source of light that flooded everywhere. The wall between what had once been two rooms had been removed to waist height, leaving only the massive oak posts to support the upper floor, and in the further room, which she could see was a dining-area, the upper floor too had been removed so the beamed ceiling soared up to the V-shaped roof of the house. But what held her riveted gaze was the far end of the dining-room where the entire outside wall had been stripped to its ancient timber skeleton, the bricks removed and replaced with glass from the ground right up to the pointed gable.
'Oh, it's magnificent!' Bethan breathed involuntarily.
A rich chuckle had her head whipping back to the sitting-room, her dazzled eyes focusing on the elderly woman sitting in a wing-chair beside the inglenook fireplace. 'I'm so sorry. How do you do, Mrs Ruston.' Embarrassed colour touched her pale cheeks. 'You must think me very rude.'
'Npt in the least.' The rich chuckle rolled out again. 'I never tire of watching people's reactions when they see this room for the first time. My husband was a very tall man and he insisted there had to be one room in the house where he could walk upright without bumping his head. Come closer, child, and let me look at you.'
It was a very long time since anyone had called her child, and Bethan smiled wryly as she obeyed, taking her own inventory as her employer surveyed her. Mrs Ruston sat very regally in her wing-chair, and her white hair drawn back in soft, smooth waves into a chignon in the nape of her neck emphasised her proud carriage. But the two elbow crutches by the side of her chair were
a reminder of why Bethan was there, and the fine wool blue dress that exactly matched the older woman's eyes hung on her as if she had recently lost a lot of weight. Her face too was pale, lines of pain deeply etched, yet her eyes were bright and lively, as if her spirit refused to let her give in to her infirmities.
'You look tired. I think you'd better have your lunch on a tray in your room then go to bed for the rest of the afternoon,' she said, and Bethan stiffened.
Please, Mrs Ruston. I know Dr Fielding doesn't consider I'm fit enough to go back to my old job yet, but I'm not an invalid. I'm here to look after you, and you'll make my position here impossible if you don't allow me to do so.'
Bethan caught the twitch of her lips as her employer turned her head to where the housekeeper still hovered in the doorway. 'All right, Molly, serve lunch in ten minutes.
'Well, if you won't go to bed, at least sit down before you fall down.' The sharp blue eyes were trained on Bethan again and she sank obediently into a chair. 'Hugo said you'd got more spunk than sense.' There was something like admiration if not approval in those blue eyes now. 'I hope he told you the last thing I need is a Starchy nurse bossing me about in my own home?'
The tone of her voice didn't match the tartness of her words add Bethan found herself smiling. 'Indeed he did, Mrs Ruston. And I'll promise to be neither bossy nor starchy if you'll promise not to treat me as if I was the patient.'
The rich, infectious chuckle bubbled up again. 'Done. Welcome to Vine House, Bethan. I think we're going to get on very well.'
A few minutes later Molly Flowerdew wheeled in the heated trolley with their lunch, calling them to the table. Bethan stood up at once and crossed to her employer's chair. 'Is it easier for you to stand up unaided or would you like me to help?'
'If you would just give me your arm to steady me ...' Mrs Ruston pressed a lever on the side of her chair and the back of the seat began to rise slowly, lifting her forward to her feet.
'I say, that's handy!" Bethan's eyes widened in admiration.
'You've never seen one of these chairs before? But then I suppose that isn't so surprising. Such invaluable
aids for the disabled would hardly be common in the parts of the world you've been working in for so long. Now, if you would pass me my sticks, my dear.'
Bethan did as she was asked and fitted her pace to that of her employer as they moved to the dining-table. Molly transferred the dishes from the heated trolley to the table and left them to help themselves to steaming hot home-made vegetable soup followed by chicken pie that melted in the mouth.
'That won't put any flesh on your bones.' Lorna Ruston eyed with disfavour the small portion Bethan had put on her plate.
I don't have a big appetite at the best of times,' Bethan assured her, 'and after so many weeks cooped up in hospital ...'
The older woman grimaced sympathetically. 'I know illness can make eating a penance instead of a pleasure, and Hugo told me how terribly injured you were. It must have been a dreadful experience. I can only say how much I admire your courage and fortitude, taking on such difficult and dangerous work. You're the kind heroines are made of.'
'Please, Mrs Ruston.' A long shudder shook Bethan's too-slender frame and her fork clattered on to her plate. If this kindly woman only knew! 'There's nothing remotely heroic about me and I'd hate you or anyone else to imagine there was,' she said flatly. 'In fact I'd be grateful if you'd treat anything Dr Fielding told you about me as confidential. As far as anyone else is concerned, I've had an accident. I'm just an
ordinary nurse who's taken this job until I'm fit enough to resume my regular duties. It's the truth after all.'
Those clear-sighted blue eyes looked at her consideringly and then the regal head nodded. 'Very well, my dear, if that's what you wish.'
Bethan had been seated facing that amazing wall of ancient timber and modern glass and saw that it looked out to a walled garden of small beds set in a geometrical pattern among pink gravelled walks, and to move the subject of the conversation away from anything personal she said, 'Isn't that an Elizabethan knot-garden?'
Mrs Ruston obligingly followed her lead, bemoaning the fact that she had to rely on Ernie Flowerdew to look after it now, and as Bethan seemed to have hit on a subject of over-riding interest to her employer she managed to keep the conversation along these channels for the rest of the meal.
'You're going to have your rest now, Mrs Lorna?' Molly said when she came in to clear the table, and something in her tone and in the light of rebellion in Mrs Ruston's blue eyes alerted Bethan to the suspicion that this was an often-fought battle. And hadn't Dr Fielding warned that his friend was a very independent lady,
But just as Bethan was preparing tactfully to add her own urging, Lorna Ruston said submissively, 'Yes, of course, Molly.' Levering herself up from the table she took her sticks and walked back into the sitting-room. 'And you must rest too, Bethan. Molly will show you to your room. I don't tackle the stairs any more than is absolutely necessary so I make do down here. When the weather gets warmer we can both take our naps in the garden,' she went on as Bethan helped her to lie down on one of the long sofas with a cushion at her head while Molly fetched a fluffy rug.
'You've worked a small miracle already, Miss
Bethan,' Molly said a few minutes later as she led the way upstairs.
`I gather Mrs Ruston doesn't usually follow her doctor's orders so readily,' Bethan said with amusement.
'Oh, when she was really ill she did right enough, but she's a fighter.' Molly shook her head. 'I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but there's a time to fight and a time to give in gracefully. This here's Mrs Ruston's room.' Molly opened a door near the top of the stairs and showed her a spacious bedroom decorated in soft shades of blue.
`That one,' she indicated a door in a passageway to the right that Bethan realised was a gallery overlooking the dining-area below, 'is where Mr Fraser sleeps when he's here.'
It was as if a blast of cold air had hit her, stippling her skin with goose bumps. `Mr Fraser?' she said faintly.
`Aye, Mrs Ruston's nephew,' Molly confirmed. `Spends a lot of his time here now, to be near Miss Miles I expect. You'll be meeting her too, no doubt. A lovely young lady, even though I sometimes think he's too old for her. But then Fraser Laurie's quite a catch. And this is your room, Miss Bethan.' She opened a door at the end of a short passage to the left, unaware that her words had turned Bethan to stone.
CHAPTER TWO
THE walls of her bedroom were white, the carpet a pleasing shade of sage green while the duvet cover on the comfortable-looking double bed and the matching curtains were in a pretty flower-sprigged cotton in toning greens, giving the room a delightful freshness and femininity.
Molly indicated a door leading off. 'That's your bathroom. All the rooms have their own.' That too was in shades of green and white to match the bedroom, the pattern on the tiles exactly repeating that on the sprigged curtains.
Knowing the housekeeper would expect a response Bethan forced her stunned brain into action. 'It's beautiful, Molly. I'll have to watch I don't get soft, staying here.' She was only half joking, for the luxury was a far cry indeed from her bare room at the Beirut hospital or the many tents she had called home in the various African countries her job had taken her to.
Still feeling shocked and confused she wandered to the Window protected by a beetling brow of overhanging thatch. It looked out on to the knot-garden, but now from this height she could see over the enclosing wall and blinked at the serried lines of green stretching almost as far as the eye could see down the south-facing slope. They can't be vines, surely!' she exclaimed.
'Indeed they are,' Molly said proudly. `Mr Ruston planted the first lot twelve years ago and now we have about twenty acres. Produce some of the best English wines in the country, too. Not that I'm much of a wine-drinker myself,' she hastened to add. 'Now, Miss, Ernie's brought your luggage up. Would you like me to unpack for you?'
Bethan, longing to be on her own to pull herself together and decide what she must do, managed to raise a smile. 'Thanks, Molly, but I'm sure you've more important things to do, and as you can see, there isn't much.'
'Well if you're sure ...' Molly retreated to the door. 'Now you do as Mrs Ruston says and rest. I'll call you when tea's ready.'
As the door closed behind the housekeeper Bethan sank down on to the edge of the bed and stared at her pathetic pile of luggage. Was it going to be worthwhile unpacking it? But if she left here, where would she go? And how would she get there anyway, when she doubted if a village the size of Nunsford had a taxi service? And if she did leave, what possible excuse could she give to Mrs Ruston, especially after that lady's kind welcome?
Why, oh why had fate played such an incredibly capricious trick, she wondered frantically, bringing her path back to cross that of Fraser Laurie again? She must be jumping to conclusions, surely she must. It would be just too much of a coincidence if Lorna Ruston's nephew really was the same man she had known all those years ago; the man she had once loved so much.
'And yet in her bones she knew it was. It was unlikely there could be two Fraser Lauries, especially as Merrifields couldn't be more than thirty miles away from Nunsford. Visits to Merrifields over the years had made her aware that the Lauries had other business interests beside farming the land around the house, and what could be more natural than Fraser taking an interest in his aunt's vineyard after that aunt had been widowed?
The panic-stricken thoughts scurrying in circles round her head brought her to her feet again to pace the floor and finally to sink to the window seat and press her heated forehead against the cool glass. Slowly the utter
peace and quiet of the scene before her began to restore logic and reason to her shocked mind.
Of course she couldn't just walk out of this job. Lorna Ruston needed her. Having met her, Bethan could see now why Dr Fielding had been so pleased with the arrangement. A nurse fussing officiously over her would have fretted Mrs Ruston to death, bringing out her spirit of rebellion and having exactly the opposite effect on her from that intended. Bethan didn't credit herself with having worked the 'minor
miracle' Molly had commented on; it had been her patient's compassionate nature that had prompted her to capitulate without argument into taking her rest, knowing Bethan herself needed to rest too. And while she continued to believe Bethan needed looking after, she would be easy to persuade into following her doctor's instructions, if only to set a good example to her nurse.
And perhaps she had panicked unnecessarily, Bethan thought as the shock of the housekeeper's unknowing revelation receded. It had all happened so long ago, her infatuation and Fraser's rejection. There might be some embarrassment when they met again but it would all be on her side, and surely she could handle it, now she was a mature woman? Fraser would almost certainly have forgotten it anyway, even if finding her here in his aunt's home reminded him of the terrible thing she had done that had changed her way of life so radically. The prospect of his possible displeasure at meeting her again was something she didn't relish, but would nevertheless have to bear.
Coming to the decision that there would be no running away, that having committed herself to Lorna Ruston's well-being she would have to see it through whatever difficulties Fraser Laurie's presence presented, Bethan began to unpack the bag she had brought with her from the hospital, carrying her toilet things through to the bathroom and putting her plain brush and comb
on the pretty dressing-table. Her mouth even curved in wry amusement as she made a bet with herself that this was the first time the dressing-table had carried so few female fripperies. But then there'd never been any need for make-up and perfume in the kind of life she had led. It hadn't always been that way, of course. When she'd been an adolescent blossoming into womanhood she had enjoyed experimenting, revelling in the difference clever make-up could make to her appearance and in the effect it had on the opposite sex. She shrugged and turned to the bed to tuck her nightdress under the pillow. It was a long time since she had bothered about her appearance, since she'd felt the urge to make herself attractive to one man in particular.
Ishbel's Party Page 3