by Betty Neels
‘There’s more to it than that,’ Sir William said sharply.
‘Yes, but it can wait until tomorrow morning, Father. I had the chance to come back with Dr Galbraith. He most kindly gave me a lift.’
‘Much obliged to you,’ said her father. ‘Come and sit down; I’m sure Nanny will have made us coffee.’ He turned his head. ‘Leonora, run and tell Nanny to bring it as soon as it’s ready.’
When she had gone, relieved to be away from her mother’s faint air of disapproval, he asked, ‘All right, is she? More to it than she has said—’
‘Yes, a good deal more, Sir William, but I am sure that Leonora will explain everything later. She has had a very trying time and she is tired.’
Sir William nodded. ‘Then we won’t pester her this evening. Good of you to bring her back. You know what happened, of course?’
The doctor looked grim. ‘Yes, indeed I do.’
Leonora came in with the coffee-tray then, and after ten minutes or so of desultory talk the doctor got up to go.
Leonora went with him to the door. ‘Thank you again,’ she said, and offered a hand. ‘And thank you for listening. You were quite right—it’s much easier to think sensibly now I’ve talked about it. You didn’t mind?’
He was still holding her hand. ‘No, Leonora, I didn’t mind. I hope that if you should need a shoulder to cry on at any time you’ll use mine.’
He gave her a brotherly thump on the shoulder and went out to his car and drove away.
Once she was back in the drawing room her mother said with a little moue of discontent, ‘Your father says we are to wait until tomorrow before you tell us exactly what has happened to bring you rushing back like this. You say you are no longer engaged to Tony… You must have a very good reason—’
Sir William said sharply, ‘That is enough, my dear; Leonora is tired; no doubt she has had a long day with things to worry her. She should go to bed and in the morning, if she wishes, she will tell us what happened.’
So Leonora went thankfully to bed and rather to her surprise went to sleep at once, to wake the next morning feeling that she was able to cope with the situation and determined that if Tony should want to see her she would refuse.
That would be the only way, she reflected as she dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen, for if they were to meet again she wasn’t sure if she could withstand his charm, despite knowing now that he had never really loved her—not with the kind of love she wanted. He had thought of her as someone who went with the house and the land, someone he would possibly treat with casual affection, load with jewellery and dress in lovely clothes and who would be expected to agree to all his plans.
‘Well, I won’t,’ said Leonora, putting on the kettle, and she wished Nanny a good morning. She opened the door for Wilkins and stood taking great breaths of the early-morning air.
‘And what’s all this I hear from your ma?’ asked Nanny.
Leonora fetched a teapot and spooned in the tea. ‘I haven’t explained yet,’ she said, ‘and I’ll tell you all about it, Nanny, but first I have to tell Father and Mother.’
Which, over the breakfast table, proved a difficult task. Her father stared with disbelief.
‘This house? My land? The park? I cannot believe it, Leonora…’
‘No, I know it’s difficult, Father, but it’s true. Tony had it all planned—you and Mother were to be moved to a smaller house—’
‘I could not possibly live in a small house,’ observed her mother, ‘and what about the Sheraton chairs and the William and Mary display cabinet? And the other furniture—it would never fit into a small house. I think it was most inconsiderate of him to even suggest such a thing. Why were we not told?’
Sir William asked, ‘These men staying in the village—you say that Tony sent them? Leonora, I find this very difficult to believe.’
‘So did I, Father, but it’s true. I told Tony that he was to recall the men and that there was no question of you selling the house and the land.’
‘Quite right too, my dear.’ Sir William, not the most sensitive of men, all the same added, ‘I hope this hasn’t upset you too much, Leonora.’
‘I expect I’m as upset as any woman who expects to get married and then finds that she won’t after all,’ said Leonora.
Lady Crosby wiped away a tear. ‘And I was planning the wedding. What will everyone think…?’
‘I don’t care what they think,’ said Leonora with a snap, and took herself off to the kitchen before she lost her cool and burst into tears.
It was all right to cry against Nanny’s elderly shoulder, pouring out her rage and disappointment and unhappiness in a jumble of words. She felt better then and sat down at the table with Wilkins pressed against her and drank the tea Nanny had made.
‘He’ll come after you,’ said Nanny. ‘If he wants the house and the land he’ll not give them up without another try. And if you truly love him, dearie, it won’t matter what he’s done; you’ll forgive him and he’ll get his way. Even Sir William would give in eventually once you were wed and Tony could show him a good reason for parting with the house and giving it to you—and to him, of course.’
‘I won’t listen to him; I never want to see him again…’
‘I dare say you’ll have to, Miss Leonora; you can’t run away if he comes here. Besides, you may have got over your rage by then and discovered that you love him enough to want to have him back.’
Leonora drank her tea. ‘Nanny, have you ever been in love?’
‘Bless the girl, of course I have. He was a deep-sea fisherman—drowned, he was, years ago now. But we were in love and we loved each other. Being in love is one thing—it doesn’t always last, but loving does.’
‘Nanny, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. You never wanted to marry after that?’
‘What for? I never met a man to touch my Ned.’
Nanny got to her feet. ‘I’m going up to make the beds, if you’ll tidy the drawing room. You’ll be going to the village presently?’
‘Yes, we want one or two things, don’t we? I’m not sure what happens next.’
‘Sir William will know what to do.’
Leonora hoovered and dusted and listened to her mother’s gentle complaining. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘Tony is sure to come here and want to see you and no doubt explain everything.’ Lady Crosby blew her nose daintily and glanced at Leonora. ‘After all, he does love you.’ She frowned at Leonora’s wooden expression. ‘Well, he does, doesn’t he?’
‘I think,’ said Leonora carefully, ‘that he loves this house and the land, and because he can only get them if I make up the package, as it were, he may be a little in love with me.’
‘But you love him, darling?’
Leonora dusted a fragile porcelain figurine with great care. ‘I’m not sure, Mother.’
Mrs Pike’s shop was empty when Leonora went in, the faithful Wilkins at her heels. She gave her order and nibbled at the biscuit she was offered—a new line in slimming rusks—while Mrs Pike collected tea, sugar, rice and corned beef.
‘They’ve gone,’ she said, leaning over the counter and speaking in a loud whisper just as though they were surrounded by eavesdroppers. ‘Them men at the Blue Man. Went first thing this morning. Had a phone call from London last night. Pike happened to be in the bar and couldn’t help but hear. Very surprised they were too.’
Leonora finished the rusk. ‘I’m not surprised; I saw Mr Beamish yesterday and—the matter has been settled.’
She took off a glove to tuck her hair back and Mrs Pike said sharply, ‘Your ring, Miss Crosby—lost it, have you?’
Leonora went pink. ‘No—no, Mr Beamish and I are not to be married after all.’
Mrs Pike wordlessly handed her another biscuit. ‘Well, I never…and it were a whopping great diamond.’
‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it?’ Leonora found to her surprise that she didn’t mind not having it. On second thoughts she wasn’t even sure that she liked diamonds
.
She went back home presently and found her father in his study.
‘They’ve gone, the two men.’ She told him what Mrs Pike had said and then said, ‘Father, do you suppose that Tony will want to see me or you and explain?’
‘Yes, I do, my dear. You do not need to see him on your own unless you want to. I shall certainly want an explanation and an apology.’
There was no sign of Tony, however. No letter, no telephone call. After several days, Leonora stopped listening for the phone and looking through the post each morning, nor did she catch her breath each time a car went past the gates. She had phoned Aunt Marion to thank her for her visit and that lady had informed her that Tony had made no attempt to get in touch with her. ‘Although why he should wish to do so I’m sure I don’t know.’
The doctor, kept up to date with village gossip by Cricket, whose benevolent and discreet manner had quite won over the hearts and the confidences of the village ladies, knew better. Tony Beamish was no fool; he would bide his time, wait until Leonora had had the time to realise that her future was no longer the one she had been looking forward to. He was a conceited man and very sure of himself; he would bank on Leonora missing him and everything he stood for and at the right moment he would turn up to beg forgiveness and convince her that everything would be changed. If she loved him he would eventually get what he wanted.
He could do nothing about it, of course. Leonora wasn’t some young, empty-headed girl; she could think for herself. All he could do was listen if she needed to talk.
It was a pity that he saw no sign of her for several days. He had a number of patients living on outlying farms and the surgery at that time of year was full with nasty chests, flu and a mild outbreak of chickenpox amongst the small fry. He drove to Bath to see Ben but, passing the gates to her home, he could see no sign of anyone.
Which was a shame, for Leonora needed to talk to someone. Her parents, outraged at Tony’s behaviour, didn’t wish to discuss the matter, and Nanny, friend and confidante though she was, had declared that she was in no position to give advice.
Tony arrived on Monday, ten days after Leonora had seen him in London. He drove up to the house, got out and looked it over before ringing the bell. Despite its shabby appearance, it was a lovely old place and he had no intention of giving it up lightly.
When Leonora opened the door he said eagerly, ‘Hello, darling. Have you calmed down enough for us to have a talk? You didn’t mean it, you know.’ He smiled with charm. ‘I’ve brought the ring with me…’
Leonora stood in the doorway, blocking his path.
‘I’ve calmed down and I meant it,’ she said, ‘so you can go away again.’
He put a hand on her arm. ‘You don’t mean that, Leonora. Think of all the marvellous things you will miss—I’ll be good to you—’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Leonora. ‘I don’t want anything more to do with you, and if Father hears any more about your plans he intends to get our solicitor to deal with it.’
Tony laughed. ‘I say—look here, old girl, you don’t mean that. You can’t have thought about it—the advantages…’
‘To you, yes. Have you come to see Father?’
‘No, no. At least, I thought if I saw you first then we might see him together and explain.’
‘Explain what? That you deceived him as well as me? Go away, Tony.’
‘I’m not going until we’ve had a talk, until I’ve been given the chance to explain.’
Leonora, not the nervous type, nevertheless didn’t like the look on his face, and he had put his foot in the door so that shutting it in his face was no longer possible. I need help, she thought.
She got it. Dr Galbraith, on his way back from Bath, glanced as he always did at the house as he passed. He slowed, reversed and slid silently up the drive to the door. His good morning was uttered in a genial voice. ‘As I was passing I thought I might just take a look at your father.’
He had, without apparent effort, got between Leonora and Tony and turned to smile at him now. ‘Rather unexpected, isn’t it?’ he wanted to know cheerfully. ‘You’re not very popular around here, you know.’ He shook his head in a disapproving fashion. ‘You have got yourself a very bad name in the village.’ He looked at Leonora. ‘Is he bothering you, Leonora?’
At her eloquent look he added, ‘If you’ve come to make your peace with Sir William I strongly advise against it. The best thing you can do, my dear chap, is to go back to wherever you came from and stay there!’
Tony found his voice. ‘What business is it of yours? This is a private matter between Leonora and myself.’
The doctor shook his head. ‘You’re mistaken, Beamish; there’s nothing private about it. The Crosbys have been here for a couple of hundred years, they’re part of the village life, and, believe me, you haven’t a single friend in Pont Magna.’
He smiled pleasantly but his eyes were blue ice and Tony was the first to look away. ‘Don’t think I am going to be intimidated by threats—’ he began.
‘Threats? No one is threatening you, Beamish—a friendly warning, perhaps.’
‘There is no point in staying here,’ said Tony. ‘I shall come back when there is a chance to talk to you privately, darling.’
‘Don’t you “darling” me,’ said Leonora frostily. ‘I don’t want to see you again and that is the last time I’ll say it.’
‘But you love me…’ Tony infused a cajoling note into his voice.
‘No, I don’t. I thought I did, but I don’t.’
A remark which the doctor found most satisfactory. Leonora was too good for that fellow, he reflected; some decent chap would come along and marry her sooner or later.
He watched Beamish go to his car and get in and drive away and then said briskly, ‘Well, now that that’s sorted out, shall I see your father?’
She had expected him to say something soothing, express satisfaction at the way she had dealt with Tony. She turned on her heel and led the way indoors, feeling hurt.
‘I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you, Doctor,’ she observed in a cool voice. ‘I’ll bring coffee; Father usually has a cup about now.’
She put her head round the study door. ‘Father, here’s Dr Galbraith to see you.’
Her father lowered The Times. ‘Ask him to come in. I heard someone—I was wondering who it was.’
She stood aside to let the doctor pass then went into the kitchen and thumped cups and saucers down on a tray, knocked over the sugar bowl and used what Nanny called ‘unsuitable language’.
‘What’s upset you, Miss Leonora?’ asked her old friend. ‘Who was that at the door? Leaving someone at the door is bad manners.’
‘It was Tony Beamish and he did upset me and I had no intention of letting him come into the house,’ said Leonora pettishly. ‘Dr Galbraith’s here; I’m taking coffee to the study. Where’s Mother?’
‘Up in her room, going through her wardrobe. A good thing too.’
Leonora found biscuits and put them on a plate and Nanny asked, ‘That Tony of yours…?’
‘He’s not mine.’
‘Good thing too. Making trouble, is he?’
‘No—well, he wanted me to be engaged again.’ She poured the coffee. ‘Actually, he got a bit—well, awkward, but Dr Galbraith was passing and stopped.’
Nanny nodded in a satisfied way. ‘And sent him right about.’
‘Well, yes, but quite nicely, if you see what I mean.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Nanny. ‘Will you take a cup of coffee up to your mother when you come back?’
The two men were sitting chatting comfortably. The doctor got up and took the tray from Leonora as she went in but she didn’t look at him as she went away again.
Her mother, occupied with her clothes, greeted her absent-mindedly.
‘I do need new clothes,’ she said plaintively. ‘Did I hear someone talking in the hall?’
‘Dr Galbraith is with Father. He called in as he was pass
ing.’
‘I’ll come down and see him—perhaps he can give me something; I feel I need a change—a little holiday, perhaps, a few days in town with your aunt Marion. Breaking off your engagement to Tony has been a great disappointment to me, Leonora.’
‘It was rather a disappointment to me, Mother.’
‘Yes, dear, of course, and I suppose he has behaved very badly. Never mind, there are plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘Perhaps I’m not a very good angler,’ said Leonora, and went back to the kitchen.
She was still there, peeling potatoes with unnecessary ferocity, when the doctor came in.
‘There you are. I’ve been talking to your mother; she feels rather under the weather, she tells me. I’ve written a prescription for her; may I leave it with you, Leonora?’ He watched her face. ‘Your father is very well. How about you?’
‘I never need the doctor,’ said Leonora, and began on another potato.
He smiled. ‘Don’t tempt fate,’ he said, and went away as quietly as he had come.
CHAPTER SIX
AT LUNCH Lady Crosby said happily, ‘Dr Galbraith has invited us to dine—rather short notice but he has friends coming down from London and he thought we might like to meet them. Next Saturday.’
Leonora remembered how she had sniffed and sobbed and made a fool of herself with the doctor. She said now, ‘I’ll have to refuse, Mother. I promised weeks ago that I’d babysit for Maggie—she and Gordon are going up to town to celebrate their anniversary. I said I’d spend the night.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Her mother sounded impatient. ‘They have a nursemaid, haven’t they?’
‘Yes, but she is very young and quite untrained. Did you accept for me as well as you and Father?’
‘Yes, of course I did. Such a nice man, well connected too, and wealthy, I hear.’
‘I’ll write him a note,’ said Leonora.
Which she did—a formal message of regret, couched in polite terms, which he read with some amusement and interest over his breakfast.
‘Now why has she done that?’ he enquired of the faithful Tod. ‘Even if she had to refuse she could have phoned me or even called in at the surgery. We are, I suspect, to be Dr Galbraith and Miss Leonora Crosby again. A strange girl!’