by Betty Neels
A sour-faced man opened it. She disliked him at once for no reason that she could think of and asked politely if she might see Mr Beamish.
‘Tell him it is Miss Crosby,’ she said, and went past him into a small hall, thickly carpeted, its walls hung with paintings and vases of flowers on the wall tables. A bit overdone, she thought, but probably Tony had a housekeeper as well as the sour-faced man. She sat down composedly on a small walnut hall chair and watched the door through which the man had gone.
Nothing happened for a few minutes, then the door was flung open and Tony came into the hall.
‘What in heaven’s name brings you here?’ he demanded, and the happy excitement of seeing him again slowly shrivelled at the cold anger in his voice. He must have seen her face because he added quickly, ‘Darling, what has happened? Is it your father—something dire?’
Leonora stayed on the chair. ‘Hello, Tony. No, Father is very well. I want to talk to you.’
‘My dear girl, why couldn’t you have phoned?’ He had controlled his annoyance now and bent to kiss her. ‘I have guests—a dinner party. I simply can’t leave them.’ He glanced at the tweed suit and the sensible shoes. ‘You aren’t dressed…’ he began.
Leonora got up. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow. Will you be here in the evening? About six o’clock? I won’t keep you long and I shall be dining with Aunt Marion.’
‘You do understand, Leonora? They’re important people—colleagues in the business world.’
He kissed her again and she turned her cheek away and walked to the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she told him in a rather small, polite voice, and went past the sour-faced man, who had appeared to open the door, and down the stairs.
At the entrance she asked the porter to get her a taxi, stood quietly until it arrived, then tipped the man and got in, outwardly serene while her thoughts were in chaos. Tony hadn’t been pleased to see her; surely if he loved her he would have been only too glad to see her? She thought he had looked furiously angry; he had been, for a moment, a man she didn’t know.
Her aunt was out when she got back, which meant that she could go to bed early, pleading tiredness after her journey—something which the housekeeper found understandable. Not that Leonora slept, not until the small hours. She pondered her few minutes with Tony, and because she loved him—well, she was going to marry him, wasn’t she? So she must love him—she suppressed the doubt at once and convinced herself that he had been tired after his day’s work. It had been her fault; she should have warned him of her coming. She must learn to accommodate her actions to suit his… She slept at last on this high-minded resolve.
In the morning, yesterday evening’s meeting faded into something which had been regrettable and entirely her fault, and hard on this thought there followed the one that Tony would certainly have an explanation for the goings-on in the village.
She spent the morning at Harrods with her aunt, pretending that she had all the clothes she wanted while her aunt tried on hats, and in the afternoon she made a fourth at bridge, a game at which she was only tolerably good. However, since her aunt had been so kind as to have her for a guest, she could do no other than express pleasure at the prospect of several hours of anxious concentration.
They played for money too but, as Aunt Marion explained laughingly, the stakes would be very low, otherwise it wouldn’t be fair to rob her niece.
Kindly fate allowed Leonora and her partner, a formidable dowager in a towering hat, to win as often as they lost, so that she was a little better off by the time they stopped for tea.
Then it was time for her to go and see Tony once more.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE sour-faced man admitted Leonora when she reached Tony’s flat. This time he led her through the hall and into a large room overlooking the street. It was splendidly furnished and its tall windows were elaborately curtained but she hardly noticed this. Tony was coming towards her, his arms outstretched.
‘Darling, how lovely to see you. I am so sorry about yesterday evening. Sometimes the only chance I have to discuss things with colleagues is over a meal. Come and sit down and tell me why you wanted to see me so urgently!’
He went to a small table against one wall. ‘What would you like to drink?’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I have to go out shortly—you said you were dining with your aunt so I saw no reason to cancel it.’
‘No, of course not.’ All the same she felt chilled by his remark. It was as if he was fitting her in between more important engagements. She refused a drink and told herself not to be petty.
He came and sat down opposite her. ‘This is delightful,’ he told her, smiling. ‘I have so often sat here and wished that you were here with me.’ He sat back, at his ease. ‘Now, what’s all this about?’
She went straight to the point, already feeling confident that the whole business was a storm in a teacup.
‘There are two men staying at the Blue Man; they have been asking questions—searching questions—about the house and our park. Two days ago I was told that they were there on behalf of someone who intends to buy the house and the land and build houses on it, as well as restoring the house. I was told that the someone was you, Tony.’
He was no longer smiling. His face was coldly angry and he didn’t look at her.
‘It’s true,’ said Leonora in a quiet voice. ‘Why, Tony? Tell me why and perhaps I’ll understand.’
He was smiling again, even laughing a little. ‘Listen, darling. Your father’s house needs to be restored; it’s already half a ruin—no paintwork, faulty plumbing, doors broken, windows warped, floors uneven, brickwork crumbling. I intend to restore it and modernise it at the same time—new bathrooms, carpets, curtains, wallpapers, the lot.
‘We will live on the top floor—a flat with its own entrance, of course—the rest will be used as a business centre. You have no idea of the number of clients I have who come here from Japan, the Middle East, the Continent. It’s an ideal spot for them to come for conferences, make decisions, arrange mergers. It’ll be run at a profit—I’ll see to that.
‘And yes, the park is useless as it is; the land will bring in a splendid amount of money and the village will benefit from an influx of new inhabitants. They will be decent-sized places and the people who buy them will bring money with them—the village will love that. Of course I’ll see that your father and mother have a suitable house—something that gorgon of a nanny can run single-handed—and of course I’ll see that your father is financially comfortable.’
Leonora, listening to this rigmarole, couldn’t believe her ears. Rage had kept her silent—a rage strong enough to make her forget that her world was tumbling round her. Now she asked quietly, ‘Is this why you wanted to marry me? So that you could do all this?’
She showed no sign of her strong feelings. so Tony said lightly, ‘Well, I must admit that that was one of the reasons…’
‘There must be any number of girls like me,’ said Leonora, ‘with elderly parents living in dilapidated old houses; you shouldn’t have much difficulty in finding one.’
She stood up, took the ring off her finger and laid it gently on the table by her chair. ‘I’m not going to marry you, Tony. I never want to see you again, and if you don’t recall those men and drop the whole idea I shall get our solicitor to take the matter up.’ She walked to the door. ‘You’re ruthless and wicked and greedy; I’m surprised that I didn’t see that. Luckily I do now.’
He crossed the room and caught her arm. ‘Leonora, darling, you can’t go like this; I’ve taken you by surprise. Go away and think about it. ‘It’s a splendid scheme and you’ll benefit from it—everything you could ever want.’
She turned to look at him. ‘All I ever want is to live at Pont Magna amongst friends and people I’ve known all my life.’
‘But you love me—’
‘I thought I did, but there’s a difference.’
She gave him a little nod and went into the hall and through th
e door, which the sour-faced man had opened. She walked down the stairs, bade the porter a polite goodnight, asked him to get her a taxi and when it came got in.
When she got out at her aunt’s house she was so white that the driver asked her if she felt ill and only drove away when she assured him that there was nothing wrong. She said the same to Mrs Fletcher and followed her obediently into the drawing room, feeling peculiar. I mustn’t faint or cry, she thought.
Her aunt was there, sitting by the small, bright fire, and standing at the window was Dr Galbraith. They turned to look at her as she went in and she stood just inside the door, knowing that if she said anything she would burst into tears. But they had seen her face and understood.
‘Come and sit down, Leonora,’ said her aunt. ‘Mrs Fletcher’s bringing coffee. I’m sure you can do with a cup.’
So she sat down, still without speaking, until she asked in a tight voice, ‘Why are you here, Doctor?’
He came and sat down, half turned away from her. ‘I phoned to see if you wanted a lift home and Mrs Thurston suggested that I might come and wait for you here.’
‘Oh—oh, I see. That’s very kind of you…’
‘Would you like to go home?’ The casual friendliness of his voice was comforting.
She looked at her aunt.
‘You would like it, wouldn’t you, Leonora? Why not? You may be sure that I understand, my dear; you don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Marion. I’d like to go home very much if you don’t mind. I—that is, Tony and I aren’t getting married so I don’t need to stay. It was very kind of you to have me… You don’t think I’m rude? I don’t mean to be!’
‘Bless you, girl, of course I don’t. I’d do the same in your shoes. Here’s the coffee; drink it while it’s hot, while Mrs Fletcher packs your bag for you. You’ll be home by bedtime. So convenient that Dr Galbraith should be going back this evening.’
‘Two days here is enough for me,’ observed the doctor, which led to an exchange of views about London versus the country while Leonora drank her coffee, swallowing with it the tears she longed to shed.
Ten minutes later she wished her aunt goodbye and got into the car, her pretty face set in a rigid smile while she uttered her thanks once more.
‘In a day or so, when you’ve had a good cry and found that life’s worth living after all, you shall tell me all about it,’ said Aunt Marion.
As he drove away the doctor observed casually, ‘What a very sensible and delightful woman your aunt is. Do you want to phone your mother?’
‘No, I don’t think so; she might worry and wonder why I’m coming back…’
‘We should be home well before bedtime. We’ll stop on the way and have a meal.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He ignored that. ‘There’s rather a nice pub in a village just off the motorway once we’ve passed Reading. That should suit us nicely. There’s plenty of time for you to have a good cry before we get there, and if I remember rightly the lighting is very dim there.’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘You think of everything,’ she told him. ‘I’d much rather go straight home.’
‘Of course you would, but consider, Leonora. The moment you entered the door you would burst into tears, upset the household and make a complete muddle of explaining.’
She took an indignant breath. ‘What a horrid thing to say. You seem to forget that I’m a grown woman and perfectly able to control myself.’
He said placidly, ‘Well, it will take a little while to get to this pub; you can think about it and tell me what you want to do when we reach the turn-off.’
He had no more to say then, which meant that she had no way of ignoring her thoughts, so that presently her much vaunted self-control collapsed and she sat rigid while the tears rolled down her cheeks. It seemed that nothing would stop them; she looked sideways out of the window although it was already getting dark and there was nothing to see, swallowing the sobs.
They were bypassing Reading when the doctor handed her his handkerchief.
‘Shall we go to the pub?’ he asked with brisk friendliness.
She mopped her face, blew her pretty nose and said, ‘Yes, please, only I must look a fright…’
‘Does that matter? No one will know you there and they will be locals chatting over their pints—and I don’t mind what you look like.’
Despite her misery, Leonora took exception to that remark.
The village was four or five miles off the motorway, a handful of cottages, one or two handsome houses and the church, and opposite it the pub—a quite small place with a solid door and small windows.
The doctor had been quite right—it was indeed dimly lit and, although the bar was almost full, beyond a quick glance no one bothered to really look at them. Moreover, at one end of the bar there were tables, none of them occupied. He led her to a small table under the window.
‘I’ll fetch our drinks and see what we can have to eat. If you want the Ladies it is in that far corner.’
He sounded exactly as she imagined a brother would sound—unfussed and casual. She nodded and took herself off and found the light in the cloakroom, unlike the one in the bar, was so powerful that it could show every wrinkle. No wrinkles in her case but certainly a rather tear-stained face, fortunately not beyond repair. She emerged presently, feeling a good deal better, and found the doctor sitting at the table reading the menu.
He got up as she reached him. ‘I’d like you to drink what’s in that glass,’ he told her, ‘and no arguing.’
‘What is it?’
She took a sip since he didn’t answer and said, ‘Oh. Brandy, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘I am sure you would have liked a pot of tea—we’ll have that later.’
She eyed his own glass. ‘That looks like water…’
‘Bottled water. I’m driving. Now, we have quite a choice.’ He handed her the menu. ‘Last time I was here I had a jacket potato piled high with baked beans—it was delicious. Soup first? No? Then I’ll order.’
He wandered over to the bar, gave his order, stopped to exchange a few cheerful comments with the men there and then wandered back again.
‘Drink your brandy and then start at the beginning. Never mind if it’s all a bit muddled; the thing is to get it off your chest so that you can think clearly about what you want to do next.’
She said tartly, ‘You sound like an agony aunt in a women’s magazine…’
‘God forbid, but I do have five sisters. I grew up steeped, as it were, in the female sex. In a position to offer humble advice if asked for it.’
She said quickly, ‘That was a horrid thing I said about being an agony aunt. I’m sorry. I’m sure you must be a very nice brother.’
‘Thank you. And now, having established my suitability as confidant, tell me what has happened to bring about this unfortunate situation.’
The brandy had been a great help. She related the whole sorry business in a voice which only wobbled occasionally and while she talked she ate the potato and beans with an appetite she hadn’t realised she had.
The doctor said nothing at all, not even when she stopped to subdue a particularly persistent wobble. It wasn’t until they had finished and a pot of tea and cups and saucers had been set before them that he observed, ‘There is a possibility that Beamish will come hotfoot after you, beg your forgiveness and scrap his plans. Have you considered that he might have had the best intentions?’
Leonora gave him a cold look. ‘He said one of the reasons for marrying me was so that he could get his hands on the house and land.’ She drew a furious breath, looking quite beautiful despite the slightly reddened nose.
‘I’m not sure any more if he ever loved me. How can I be?’
The doctor sighed gently. It would be tragic if young Beamish could persuade her into thinking that the whole thing had been nothing but a misunderstanding—something he would be quite capable of doing—and
it would be easy if he himself dropped sufficient hints as to the man’s character to put her on her guard, but he had no right to interfere. In any case, he reminded himself, Leonora was no shy young girl; she must decide for herself what she wanted from life.
‘I think that perhaps you will know that when you see him again.’ At her look of doubt he added, ‘Oh, you will, you know. You must follow your heart, Leonora.’
Back in the car, speeding along the motorway once more, sitting in a friendly silence, Leonora thought about the doctor’s advice. It had been sound, unbiased and quite impersonal. She would take it, only she wished that he had been a little more sympathetic. There was no reason why he should be, she reminded herself; he had given her advice just as, doubtless, he gave advice to such of his patients who asked for it.
The lights were still on at the house when he drew up before it. He got out to open her door and said, ‘I’ll come in with you,’ and she gave him a grateful look.
‘I’ve my key,’ she told him, and they went in together just as Nanny came into the hall from the kitchen end.
‘Well, I must say that seeing you so sudden is a bit of a shock. You didn’t phone.’ She looked at the doctor as she spoke.
‘Hello, Nanny,’ said Leonora. ‘I’m sorry if we made you jump. Dr Galbraith gave me a lift home. Are Mother and Father in the drawing room?’
Nanny nodded. ‘You could do with a cup of coffee, the pair of you. I’ll bring it presently.’
Lady Crosby was doing a jigsaw puzzle and Sir William was reading. It was Wilkins who came to meet them as they went in, delighted to see them.
‘Leonora—we didn’t expect you—you haven’t phoned.’ Her mother looked surprised. ‘And Dr Galbraith.’ She frowned. ‘Tony isn’t with you?’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Your father and I thought he might come back with you—you must have seen him.’
Her father had put down his book. ‘Something’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘I went to London to see Tony about something—something I had been told about him. We—that is, I decided that I don’t want to marry him so we’re not engaged any more.’