by Pamela Kent
Harriet looked vexed with herself.
"I know it was silly, and I don't really understand it myself. Except that�" "Yes?" "Oh, nothing." "What were you looking for in the attic, any
way?" "Nothing in particular�a picture." "Are there pictures up there?" "Oh, yes, quite a number. Family portraits, and that sort of thing�" "Family portraits?"
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g' "They're mostly just rubbish�well, not par| ticularly good." Harriet never afterwards fully |understood why she laboured this point, but at
|that particular moment she didn't want Gay to {Sgo up to the attics and find the portrait that so | resembled. Philip Drew. If she did, she would all. most certainly be intrigued by it, and she would ^probably bring it down from the attics and conpfront him with it when he next arrived. And side I by side with the portrait he would probably look
| quite unlike it, and both he and Gay would be |amused because Harriet had been so impressed | by the likeness that she had fainted as a result I of it, and that was a ridiculous thing to do anyr way.
| For how could Philip Drew resemble a por- r trait in the attics? Gay smiled suddenly, and finished the last of ; her brandy.
"Well, I'm going to bed now," she said, "and however much you may seek to put me off him I hope very much that I shall dream of Philip Drew. I shall dream of that strong, square jaw of his, and those excellent eyebrows, and exciting dark eyes of his. Don't you think they're exciting?" She glanced at Harriet quizzically. "But more than anything else about him, I love his hands. Such a shapely pair of hands! Slim, and tanned, and strong. I wouldn't call them a surgeon's hands, because they're rather too ruthless, but they're clever hands ... and when he
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lays his finger on my pulse I feel a sense of
excitement!"
"Then it would be better if he didn't lay his finger on your pulse," Harriet said shortly, and Gay laughed at her.
"When I found him kneeling beside you last night you didn't look at all as if you appreciated the situation," she said. "But I would have done! I would be willing to do the same thing every night if it would bring him to his knees on the floor beside me!"
But Harriet merely felt acutely uncomfortable
at the knowledge that she had endangered Dr.
Drew's immaculate trousers.
I ' CHAPTER V
�>
J SEVERAL days went by without Harriet catch
^ing so much as a glimpse of Dr. Drew, although rshe understood that he called regularly to see | her sister. Gay reported that he thought she was | making progress, and Harriet received the infor| mation with a faintly surprised look ... for witht out being unduly critical of her sister she did j understand perfectly that she was enjoying an : unusual role for the time being, and it was the > role of interesting invalid.
As she was as tough as a wiry monkey under
neath her fragile exterior there was little likeli
hood that she would make any more progress
than she was making at the present time. She
would be horrified herself if she suddenly put on
extra weight or developed a healthy colour. All
her make-up was selected for the purpose of
maintaining her air of gardenia delicacy.
Therefore it puzzled Harriet that an experi
enced doctor like Philip Drew�and she was
reasonably certain that he was very experienced �could be taken in by- an act that didn't even
deceive the housekeeper or the cook. That latter, in particular, had every reason to believe that her mistress was in perfect health, for apart from
75
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taking an inordinate amount of interest in her food she was highly critical of anything that found its way from the kitchen to the diningroom that didn't come up to the high standard she demanded and expected.
But Philip Drew, who was every bit as shrewd as the cook, was apparently taken in... taken in to such an extent that he called daily and prescribed different forms of tablets that Gay allowed to accumulate in the medicine cupboard in her bathroom because she had no intention whatsoever of taking them.
Harriet supposed they were fairly mild tablets, or else Dr. Drew honestly believed Gay needed them.
, In any case, Harriet was utterly puzzled by his behaviour, for her idea of a doctor-patient attitude did not permit the doctor to remain for over an hour drinking sherry with the invalid, or walking with her in the rose-garden where, apparently, they discussed various varieties, and Gay made the discovery that he was something of a rose-grower himself... which amused her, because flower-growing was something she left to the gardener.
Occasionally he looked in in the evening, just before dinner, and that was when he remained to drink a glass of sherry. In all fairness to him, he had probably finished his rounds for the day, and the local people seemed satisfied with him. ... So Harriet tried not to be too severe in her
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judgement of him. Far better that he should look after her sister, she supposed, than that he should neglect her. All the same, she couldn't help being fairly convinced that if Gay had been extremely ordinary, and was not the local lady of the manor�deprived very recently of her husband, and without any other form of encumbrance� his visits would have been more sparsely made, and would probably have ceased altogether after the initial visit when she returned home from Italy.
Harriet spent the days painting, walking, and driving. She had a little car of her own, in which she frequently drove past the doctor's house on the outskirts of the village. It was a very pleasant house, and old Dr. Parkes shared Dr. Drew's interest in roses, and the garden was full of them
despite the lateness of the season. Harriet did
know something about roses, and she often paused to admire them from the road.
One day she paid a visit to a local kennels to pick up a puppy, and was driving home past the doctor's house "when she saw the doctor sitting in his car outside it She accorded him a small smile and a prim wave of the hand as she passed, but she soon realised he was coming after her. She drew into the side of the road, because she gathered mat that was what he wished her to do, and he got out of his car and came across to her. She expected him either to say something earnestly about her sister, or to enquire in a
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derisive manner after the state of her own health, but he did neither of these things.
Instead, he leaned into the car and displayed a good deal of interest in the puppy�which was an enchanting Golden Labrador�and then picked it up and fondled it as he asked its new owner whether she had very much on that after
noon. "No." Harriet looked at him in surprise. "Why?" "I was wondering whether you'd come and have tea with me."
"What?'3
"I said I hoped you might be persuaded to come and have tea with me."
He continued to lean against the car door, and his dark eyes were mildly amusedy and the comers of his mouth curved upwards somewhat quizzically.
"Why me ?" Harriet asked, in what she recognised was an ungracious as well as a blunt manner, and was an ungrammatical way of putting things in any case.
"Why not you?" He put the puppy back in its basket, and then lifted the basket out of the car. "It's my afternoon off, and my housekeeper has gone to visit a relative. She's left everything ready�the tea-tray, the tea in the pot, the cakes and the sandwiches�and there's only me to do justice to what she's left. Besides, I hate having tea alone. Normally, I don't bother, but on my
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afternoon off I have to do something to distin
guish it from other days."
Harriet climbed out of the car. She was wear
ing a new pale yellow woollen suit, and she
knew it suited her particularly well, so for
once
she had confidence in his presence.
"What you mean," she said, "is that you can't
be bothered to put the kettle on and make your
own tea, and you want someone to do it for you.
Well, as it happens, I'm not in a desperate rush,
and I don't mind obliging. Unless�" looking at
him rather alertly�"you care to come back with
me to Falaise and have tea with my sister and
myself?"
He shook his head. His eyes were still twink
ling lazily.
"Your sister offered me tea yesterday, but I'm
afraid I didn't have time to stay and accept her
invitation."
"Oh!" Harriet said. "Tempting though it was, of course," she heard him add, and wondered why she hadn't turned him down out of hand.
"Then, in that case, you can have tea with her today . . ." she was beginning, when he Smiled more annoyingly and shook his head
again.
"I was referring to the chocolate gateau and the other cakes," he told her. "Your cook has the advantage over mine. She can't make cakes. She has to buy them."
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"Oh, I see," Harriet said, and stood aside while he led the way in through a side door to the garden of Dr. Parkes' house.
The scent of the roses came at them as they entered. The lawns were very well cut, and the herbaceous border was blazing with autumnal splendour. Harriet wanted to stop and admire everything as they passed, but the puppy had taken a flying leap out of its basket and was running ahead of them into the house.
For just one moment, before they entered it, Harriet had a distinctly curious feeling. She knew that there was no one in the house, and that the moment they entered it they would be alone�apart from the puppy. She was not so old-fashioned that she was afraid, for her reputation's sake, of entering an otherwise unoccupied house and going through the intimacies of making tea in the kitchen while the personable bachelor for whom she was making it looked on and either applauded or derided her efforts, but she did feel that in the company of Philip Drew she was never at her best, and he was liable to make her feel still more self-conscious by saying something embarrassing at the wrong moment.
Therefore, when they entered through the French windows of the drawing-room, and she saw what a masculine .room it was, and how much of Dr. Drew's personality it had already absorbed, she drew back instinctively as if she was about to change her mind.
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Dr. Drew's eyebrows went up. He looked at her challengingly.
"Afraid to enter the lion's den ?" he suggested.
"Of course not." But her face had flamed suddenly under the amusement in his eyes. "I
was just thinking what a pity it is there's no
woman in this house to make it habitable. Poor
old Dr. Parkes, of course, has been a widower for years... and you've only got your house
keeper."
"Who looks after me so well I wouldn't dream of making a single complaint about her. However, as she's over sixty and doesn't approve of gee-gaws, as she calls them, it's just possible I am missing something... the trimmings, apparently. You think a wife would be a better investment and provide the trimmings?"
She turned pinker than ever.
"I once heard someone say that both a doctor and a clergyman need a wife. But probably you don't agree."
"I didn't say so."
"And I'm not finding fault with your housekeeper. It's just that I think a room like this needs flowers."
"Then before you go you shall fill my vases for me... if you can find any! And you shall let me into the secret of how much I'm missing by not possessing a wife!"
Grinning at her in a slightly Machiavellian manner, he preceded her into the kitchen and
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switched on the electric kettle�that, inciden-. tally, had been left already filled for him. Then he poured-the puppy a saucer of milk, found a floorcloth and mopped up one or two puddles that the small bundle of golden silk had already dotted about the kitchen as a kind of trail, and looked hugely amused when Harriet appeared discomposed by the sight of him doing anything
of the kind.
"What will your housekeeper say I" She managed to wrest the floorcloth from him, and decided that a saucer of milk at that stage would be a most unwise act of benevolence. "He can wait until I get him home. I'm afraid they're horribly leaky at this stage!"
"Is it a he?"
"I�I asked them to put a male aside for
me."
"Bitches make better pets."
He picked up the puppy and examined it with
interest, informing her that it should grow into a very fine animal later on, and supply the only touch of masculinity in a strictly female household. And then he watched her fill the teapot, uncover the sandwiches, and took the tray from her as she started to carry it into the drawing
room.
The tray was set down on a little occasional table, and they settled themselves in chairs one on either side of it Harriet, who was so accustomed to pouring tea that she should have done
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it automatically, was furious with herself for staining the lace-edged traycloth with a fairly strong brew of Indian tea, and bit her lip with every sign of agitation. Once again she started
to apologise.
"I can't think how it happened!"
"Forget it," he advised. "Forget it and relax. I didn't invite you to have tea with me in order to test the quality of your nerves. And apparently you do suffer from them occasionally I"
She denied this.
"I'm not at all a nervous person."
"No?" He cocked an eyebrow. "What about
the other night?"
She bit into a cucumber sandwich and wished he would remove his eyes from her. They were so dark and disturbing that it was small wonder she was temporarily afflicted with nerves, and she knew that if he went on staring at her in that fashion, and the twinkle in his eyes grew just a little brighter, and the curve of his mouth a trifle more mysterious, she really would drop something ... a plate, or possibly the teapot itself.
She cuddled the puppy up under her chin, and buried her shaking hands in its fur. Philip Drew smiled.
"That outfit suits you," he told her. "You are perfectly charming this afternoon. Your sister is charming, too."
"I'm sure you think she is much more charming," she replied before she fully realised what
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she was saying, and once again his left eyebrow went up. "And what, precisely, am I intended to de- duce from that?" "N-nothing." He lighted a cigarette, although he had not yet touched the sandwiches or the cakes, and inhaled smoke thoughtfully. "And yet I'm somehow convinced you meant quite a lot," he murmured. "However, I don't feel it would be wise to probe at this juncture. Tell me, would you say Mrs. Eamshaw is. getting over her loss? I'm not in a position to know how much her late husband meant to her, but even a woman who has never been madly in love with a husband becomes dependent oh him to a certain extent Would you say�for want of a better way of putting it�that she is resigning herself to being a widow?" "I would say so," she replied, thinking that was the understatement of the year. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You sound a trifle critical," he remarked. He flicked ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. "Perhaps you don't like talking about your sister." "I'm very fond of her," she defended herself because of the implication in his voice. "Are you?" There was no doubt about it, he was sceptical. "I've rather gathered that you're a little annoyed at having to give up a few of
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your own pursuits in order to remain with Mrs. Eamshaw for a time, at least. And yet you're both so like one another�in a kind of way� that you should get along well together. To me,
; if you don't mind my saying so, you're a kind
of ; reflection of your sister�" "That is kind of you!" -she exclaimed, her
green eyes sparkling with resentment. He smiled. "I said 'a kind of a reflection.' Physically you
have much in common, but your eyes are so very green and hers are so very reminiscent of
wet violets that that is where the true difference lies. Temperamentally, you are entirely different ... as different as any two people could be!
Your eyes give away the fact that, despite a certain deceptive demureness, you're all fire and | resentment and easily aroused hostility, whereas
your sister is gentle and uncomplaining and ex| ceedingly easy to live with. Or so I would say." ! Her eyes instantly flashed more sparks. , "Meaning that I would be impossible to live
�'with?" | "I didn't say so." He settled himself more |comfortably in his chair, and his voice was p annoyingly languid and quite complacent. "But j|if you had red hair as well as green eyes I think |you probably would be�rather difficult to live |with!"
^ ^ "In that case you must be amazed that my |,sister wants me to live with her?"
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"I am, rather." "But apart from that you think you under
stand my sister very well?" "I think I do." He could almost feel her bridling. The puppy
whimpered as she took such a tight grip on it that the minute creature was moved to protest. He held out his hands for it.
"Give it to me! If I say something to which you really take exception you'll probably throttle it!"
All her instincts urged her to defy him and to keep the puppy on her lap, hugged up in her own arms; but there was something about the cool command in his eyes, the note in his voice which warned her he was a man who expected �and usually received�instant compliance with his wishes, that it was almost like a battle of wills going on between them, and in the end she surrendered the puppy with a bad grace,
and to her mortification it settled down instantly on his knee and actually went straight off to sleep without even clawing at the nap of his
trousers. "There, you see," he said softly, smoothing the puppy's fur. "The little chap knows when it's well off. By the way, what are you going to call it?" "I haven't thought yet," she answered stiffly. "Then you'd better call it Solomon. It's a