by Susan Barrie
It was so deliciously cosy and comfortable and, somehow, intimate within that the whole atmosphere should have quivered with peace and contentment ... instead of which it bristled with something very close to determined hostility. Leydon owed a lot to Alison, and every day he owed more to her because of the very comfort with which she surrounded him so lavishly, and yet his eyes as they rested on her were barely friendly. They were cool, and a trifle bleak, as they had been when she first knew him. The fact that she was not as she was when she first knew him, and her hair was a charming cap that emphasised the delicate beauty of her face, and she had ceased to wear prim white collars and even, on occasion, wore trinkets instead, apparently meant nothing to him. He had not even commented on her changed appearance, and after a few days during which she made use of her new beauty outfit she gave up and contented herself as in the past with a light dusting of face powder and the lightest—and usually rather hurried—application of lipstick.
Her eye-shadow and her mascara were thrust to the back of her dressing-table drawer, and Marianne during one of her frequent rummages of her stepmother’s drawers came upon them and borrowed them without so much as asking Alison’s leave. Indeed, Alison didn’t even notice that they had gone ... and she wouldn’t have bothered had she made the discovery.
Now Charles Leydon looked at her as if he found her whole appearance quite the opposite of inspiring and echoed Jessamy’s words almost coldly.
“Yes, I probably do have a certain amount of strictly private Christmas shopping that I wish to attend to,” he said, and then lay back in his chair as if he was suddenly either acutely tired or acutely bored. Even Jessamy looked at him a trifle anxiously, and Alison felt she had blundered badly.
She said something, hurriedly, about having something in the oven that she must attend to, and withdrew to her kitchen. When she served dinner to him and Miss Prim later he was in the same withdrawn mood, and did not unbend until the following morning ... and even then it was only a partial unbending.
Miss Prim accompanied him to London, and they expected to be away for a couple of nights at least. Alison pictured Charles arriving at his flat—which she understood was in one of the most exclusive blocks devoted to bachelor flats—and the atmosphere of restrained luxury that would engulf him the moment he set foot inside his own front door. As it was a service flat he would be well looked after and there would be no question of meals being haphazardly served, or gone without because he did not possess a housekeeper. All he had to do, apparently, was to lift a telephone receiver and even if he wished to entertain a party of friends the necessary constituents would be produced simply as a result of ordering them over the telephone.
Miss Prim had explained the way he lived to Alison, and to the girl who had to cope with ovens and tradespeople and uncertain help from the village it all seemed beautifully simple.
She thought of the man she had nursed entering his flat with a sigh of relief because it contained all the things that ensured him the very maximum amount of comfort, and it was a place where he could be completely at his ease. If he wanted to go out for the evening a gentleman’s gentleman would arrive to valet him; if he wanted to give a dinner-party a correctly attired manservant would arrive with the foodstuffs.
If he wanted to be alone he could be completely alone.
Alison remembered that Miss Prim had said something about a near engagement a couple of years before, and she wondered what had happened to prevent the engagement ever becoming an established fact. Apparently the young woman was still interested, and that seemed to underline the obvious fact that Sir Charles Leydon—possibly not merely for his good looks and charm alone—was regarded as quite a catch in the marriage market, and in any case the frequent brusqueness of his attitude did not appear to repel the opposite sex.
Not seriously, at any rate. Marianne was sufficient proof of that.
When he returned from his short visit to London Leydon was looking a little tired and jaded, but according to Miss Prim it was not as a result of any wild excesses while he was staying at his flat. He had given her his word that he would retire to bed early, and that he would limit his activities to reasonable ones during the daytime. He said nothing about doing any shopping, and Alison no longer had the courage to make personal enquiries concerning the way in which he had spent his time in London. A short time ago—only, she realised, a few days ago—she would have done so, without fear of being badly snubbed. But since her suggestion that he might be planning to go shopping on Jessamy’s account while he was in London, and his somewhat arrogant reception of the suggestion, their relationship seemed to have reverted to very much the sort of relationship it had been when he first arrived at Leydon.
He walked into her kitchen after his return from London and warned her that she could expect certain additions to her store-cupboard—quite considerable additions, as it turned out—within a matter of days. And he had also arranged for a supply of wines and spirits and luxuries and delicacies associated with Christmas to arrive at the same time. A big London store had received an order from him for a few minor conveniences in which the Hall was lacking, such as an angle-poise lamp for his desk in the library, another specially constructed lamp for his bedside table, a deep wing chair for his sitting-room, and some heating appliances which should do rather more to combat any sudden fall in the temperature than the existing ones were capable of doing.
Somewhat curtly he informed her that, in addition to the heating appliances, he had arranged for partial central heating to be installed at Leydon. The major portion of the house would not benefit by it, but her rooms would, and so would the rooms he had taken over as his own.
“You’ll probably find quite a difference when the thing is working,” he said.
Alison, somewhat taken aback, stared at him.
“Then ... then does that mean you expect to spend quite a lot of your time here at Leydon in the future?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I expect to be here quite a lot, yes.”
“You—you find that it’s possible to work here?”
“I shall do some work here, but of course my headquarters will still have to be London. And it doesn’t necessarily mean that my plans for Leydon are entirely changed.”
“I see,” she said.
He gazed at her as if something about her irritated him. He started pacing up and down her kitchen, and then he returned to her.
“I shall probably spend most of the summer here at Leydon, and that is why I have decided to carry out a certain amount of restorative work here. The place has its charms—or will have in summer—and there’s no reason why a section of it shouldn’t be completely sealed off from the rest, thereby providing me with a manageable country house. I shall need a country house in the future ... nothing unwieldy, but large enough to house my friends and enable a growing family to breathe comfortably. The air here is so excellent that that is one reason why I have decided to begin to send out roots ... the kind of thing my forefathers did!”
Alison found it quite impossible to frame words for a moment. Then she heard herself say in a voice which she strove to make sound merely interested, although it was quite impossible for her to conceal her surprise:
“You—you don’t mean that you are planning to—”
“Marry?” He smiled at her casually. “Don’t most men marry at some time or other in their lives?”
She answered with slight huskiness:
“Of course.”
“And when a normal man marries he expects to acquire a family in the fullness of time.” Once more he started walking up and down her kitchen, and paused to admire a batch of tartlets that were cooling on a wire tray and were intended for his dinner table that evening. “I say, these look good! Mind if I sample one?”
Alison nodded permission, and he consumed two tartlets under her eyes. Then he dusted his fingers fastidiously and wiped them on his immaculate cambric handkerchief.
; “Never listen to anyone who so much as hints you’re not the world’s best cook, Alison,” he advised her coolly.
Blindly she fixed her eyes on the tray of tartlets, and felt as if she would choke. But not on tartlets ... only because of them.
“By the way”—Restlessly he continued his pacing—“while I was in London I seized the opportunity to look up my orthopaedic friend. It so happens he’s on a visit to this country, and I was able to have a word with him about Jessamy.” Alison’s dull eyes became riveted on his face. “From what I told him he was quite hopeful he could do something for your stepdaughter, although it may take time. He suggests that in the new year I, or you, take her to Austria, and he’ll try out his treatment. He’s a remarkable man, with many successes to his name, and I have every hope that he’ll work the oracle in Jessamy’s case.”
“Austria?” Alison was herself aware that her speech was laboured. “But wouldn’t that involve a lot of expense?”
Leydon banged the table with his fist, and the tartlets wobbled on their wire cooling tray.
“Once and for all,” he exclaimed, “get it into your head that expense is the one thing that is not going to be spared in the fight to free Jessamy of her limp! I have made up my mind, whether you agree or not, that she is going to Austria, and she is going to be treated—”
“I have nothing against her receiving treatment.” Alison’s voice was a mere frozen thread of sound. “You must be perfectly well aware that I am very devoted to Jessamy, and I would do anything—give anything!—to know that she was as other girls of her age are, and that there was not even the smallest cloud upon her future. But neither I nor her father would wish an—an outsider to interest himself in her, and least of all would we wish that outsider to incur expense—”
“If by outsider you mean me, then I’m determined to incur any expense that is necessary.”
“Why?” She stared at him.
“Because Jessamy is important to me ... possibly even more important than she is to you!”
“I—I don’t believe it! That isn’t possible!”
He smiled at her with dry coolness.
“No? But you are merely her stepmother, aren’t you? And I—”
He abandoned the subject and walked to the door.
“We’ll talk about it later ... after Christmas. And that is only weeks away. In the meantime,” regarding her with a smile in his light grey eyes that actually provoked her, “I’ll leave you to your woman’s work ... the task of preparing my evening meal! Which I’m sure must give you the very maximum amount of satisfaction!” About to leave the kitchen he wheeled about for the third time and walked up to her. Before she realised what he intended to do he had caught hold of one of her hands and carried it up to the light as if he wished to inspect it.
“I thought so,” he said. “You used nail varnish for a matter of days after you paid that unexpected visit to a beauty parlour in Murchester, and then you left off using it.” His eyes scrutinised her face. “Just as you left off using make-up—or anything that is in the least noticeable—and the odd spot of perfume. Since your hair has been cut you can’t do much to alter that, but I’ve the feeling you’d love to have that tight little bun back in the nape of your neck, and I’m sure you don’t feel really respectable without it. Rosalind Prim isn’t in the least prim at heart, but you are ... prim and constantly on your dignity!”
She snatched away her hand, and held it behind her back.
‘‘You’re forgetting, aren’t you, Mr. Leydon,” she emphasised, “that I’m the cook here?”
“Nonsense!” To her astonishment he sounded quite angry. “At the moment you’re acting as my housekeeper here, but I’m perfectly willing to provide you with someone to do the cooking if necessary. I thought, however, that you liked cooking.”
“I don’t!” as if it was the one thing she loathed above everything else, which was very far from true.
His eyes became inscrutable. He stared down at her without any expression whatsoever on his face and appeared to be calmly and dispassionately seeking to make up his mind about her. “Then what do you like?”
“I—I’m not at all sure.” Then she said something that she afterwards regretted saying very much indeed, but at the moment that she made the utterance she was unable to stop herself. It simply burst from her. “You never made any comment after I went to the beauty parlour! I was quite sure you hadn’t even noticed that I’d had my hair cut, let alone bought myself a few new things!”
A slow smile dawned in his eyes. All at once their strange light grey quality had a warmth and a depth that was really surprising, and but for the fact that she was suddenly covered in embarrassment, she might have noticed that the amusement which also lit his features was quite genuine, and some other emotion she might have found it difficult to analyse was mixed up with it.
“Dear me,” he said, “I seem to have blundered. You can take it from me that I did notice! Oh, yes, I noticed immediately you got back from Murchester, but Prim was here, and it didn’t seem the right occasion to comment on your sudden emancipation. Besides, I couldn’t quite make out why you’d gone to so much trouble ... all at once! And deprived yourself of that tight little bun which I’m sure you loved. Shall I tell you something?”
“If you feel you’d like to do so,” looking anywhere but up into his eyes.
“That night you returned ... But never mind. The night you fell asleep in the library while I sat opposite you in a chair some unwary movement on your part caused your hair to tumble down about your shoulders, and if anyone had told me you were a cook while I sat looking at you then...”
“Please,” she begged, in a muffled voice, “I hate to be reminded of that night when you caught pneumonia.”
“Do you?” the smile vanished from his face. “Strange, because I rather like to dwell upon it.”
CHAPTER IX
WHEN Christmas came the weather had taken an unseasonably mild turn, and on Christmas morning the sun shone so brilliantly that it was more like the first day of spring than the commencement of the festive season.
Bereft of snow and ice, the Hall, nevertheless, was the perfect setting for Yuletide parties and lighthearted gatherings. Alison had spent five Christmases at Leydon, and on each of those five Christmases she had made herself responsible for decorating the house ... even the unoccupied rooms. With the co-operation of the head gardener she had transformed them with boughs of laurel and giant-sized logs that blazed on the open hearths, and her own apartments had always been gay with tinsel and bright with holly berries.
This particular Christmas was rather like being confronted with a major problem, for she had no idea how much Christmas really meant to a man like the present baronet. If she started decorating he might order her to take the stuff down because according to his modern outlook it was too much like keeping alive pagan customs. On the other hand, he obviously considered that Christmas was a time for latitude where the pleasures of the table were concerned, for he had already provided for the extra demands on that side of the establishment. Whole hams had arrived and Fortnum & Mason jars of tongue. An extra store-cupboard had been opened up for the storage (fairly temporary, since Christmas was not very far off) of boxes of marrons glacés, preserved ginger, crystallised figs and other fruits, pate and even caviare. Alison had been encouraged to triplicate her usual order for turkey, and she was expecting an outsize bird to be delivered at her side entrance a day or so before Christmas.
She only hoped her oven would be large enough to cope with it, and that she wouldn’t have to carry it down to the main kitchen and get the big Aga going in order to provide them with the main course of Christmas Day.
She decided to approach Leydon about decorations and trimmings before rallying her helpers and bringing in the step-ladders. Somewhat to her surprise he gave her carte blanche to do as she pleased, and she received the impression that although he was not particularly anxious to see the place transformed he was by no m
eans averse to a large bunch of mistletoe being attached to the giant swinging lantern in the great hall, or a giant Christmas-tree being introduced into the hall itself.
He even said he would see the head gardener himself and make sure that the Christmas-tree really was one of the finest the estate could provide. And he drove himself into Murchester to buy coloured electric light bulbs and other things for the tree.
According to usual custom the presents were to be placed beneath the tree, and handed out on Christmas afternoon.
The three girls grew very excited as Christmas drew near. Marianne had repaired the damage to her relationship with her veterinary surgeon, and he was invited to dine with them on Christmas Day. Lorne had invited a girl friend to stay with them over the holiday, and Jessamy seemed remarkably content to be without special friends and drifted about the Hall as if she was secretly inspired and rendered transparently content by some inner force or knowledge that she had, and which was in no wise affected by the fact that she still limped badly.
Leydon had told her that she was to go to Austria in the new year, and it could have been the thought of imminent travel that excited her to such an extent that her eyes appeared actually to shine, and her whole expression was extraordinarily radiant.
On Christmas Eve Charles Leydon and his secretary dined alone in his sitting-room, but it was understood that on the following day even breakfast would be served in the big main dining-room. In order that they shouldn’t all freeze enormous fires were maintained in the room for several days beforehand, and the new heating equipment was brought into action to help raise the temperature in remote corners of the room.
Alison went to bed quite early on Christmas Eve. She and Mrs. Davenport had spent the better part of the evening stuffing the turkey and making mince pies and sausage rolls, and even Marianne had lent a hand with the latter. She had quite a light hand with pastry when she condescended to prove it, and she went off to bed at last quite happily and singing softly to herself. Marianne was too much of a modern to sing carols, but Lorne was not. Alison overheard her rendering of Silent Night as she passed along the corridor outside her room, and she stood still beside one of the narrow windows to survey the silent park and the stars, and wonder what it was about Christmas that seemed to act like a charm on her spirit, even when her feet and back ached, and she was very, very tired.