Only a Dream

by Barbara Cartland

  She could not imagine that anyone would talk in such an exaggerated manner if they were not in some way slightly deranged.

  Because he was obviously waiting for her answer, she said after a moment,

  “All that concerns me at the moment, my Lord, is my father – and it is difficult to think of – anything else.”

  Lord Polegate smiled and, turning a little sideways in his seat, said,

  “In which case, I can just look at you. You know how unusual you are and how different from anyone Kenway has produced in the past.”

  “Then you cannot have met my mother, my Lord!”

  “No, I did not have that pleasure. In fact I have known your father only for the last six months.”

  Isla had no reply to this and they drove on in silence.

  She was, however, acutely aware that Lord Polegate was watching her and it made her feel uncomfortable.

  She was, therefore, greatly relieved when they drew up outside a large porticoed door of what she realised was one of the largest houses in Park Lane.

  There was a red carpet on the steps, four footmen in livery and a butler in the hall.

  As they entered, Lord Polegate said,

  “Miss Kenway wishes to see her father and I want luncheon in half an hour.”

  “Very good, my Lord!”

  “Come with me,” Lord Polegate said to Isla.

  They climbed the very impressive staircase side by side and walked along the wide corridor at the end of which Lord Polegate knocked on a door.

  It was opened almost immediately by a man dressed as a valet.

  “How is our patient, Hales?” Lord Polegate asked.

  “’E’s never stirred, my Lord, and the doctor’s comin’ again this afternoon.”

  Lord Polegate walked into the room and Isla followed him.

  Then, as she saw her father’s head on the pillow of a large bed, she ran to his side.

  His face was very pale, his eyes were closed and for a moment a streak of fear like the thrust of a dagger went through her, as she thought that he was dead.

  Then, as she bent forward to touch his hand, she realised that it was warm and he was definitely breathing.

  Despite his pallor he looked very handsome and, because she could not help herself, she bent nearer to him to say in a low voice,

  “Papa! Papa! Can you hear me?”

  There was no response and the hand under hers was quite still.

  She looked at him feeling frightened and helpless.

  Then she was aware that Lord Polegate and the valet were standing and waiting as if for her to say something.

  “W-what – can we do?” she asked in a whisper.

  “There is nothing we can do, my dear, that has not been done already,” Lord Polegate replied. “My valet says the doctor will be coming again this afternoon and perhaps by then your father will have regained consciousness. In the meantime we shall just have to wait and see.”

  “But – I cannot leave him – here!” Isla exclaimed.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I must be with him.”

  Lord Polegate smiled.

  “That is quite easy. My house is large and there is plenty of room for you.”

  It never struck her that he would say anything like that and, as she stared at him, he added,

  “We will talk it over while we have luncheon. I assure you your father will be very well looked after by Hales.”

  He walked purposefully towards the door, but Isla turned back.

  She bent and kissed her father’s cheek very lightly and there were tears in her eyes as she prayed silently that he would soon be better.

  Then, knowing that there was nothing else she could do, she followed Lord Polegate out into the corridor, only saying ‘thank you’ to the valet as she passed him.

  They walked in silence down the stairs and into the most luxurious sitting room Isla had ever imagined. There were pictures on the wall and she knew, because her mother had taken her to the National Gallery and other museums, that they were all priceless masterpieces.

  The furniture was also superb and she recognised the carpet on the floor as being an Aubusson.

  Lord Polegate had poured her a glass of champagne and the bottle was reposing in an elaborate gold ice-cooler that bore his crest.

  “You will feel better after you have had a drink, my dear,” he said. “It is always a shock to see someone one loves unconscious.”

  “How could – this have – happened to Papa?” Isla asked. “And why should he have – suffered a heart attack?”

  She looked at Lord Polegate almost accusingly as she asked the question and he said with a meaningful gesture of his hands,

  “I am afraid, my dear, that your father had imbibed rather too freely and he had also eaten a great deal for supper.”

  Isla closed her eyes for a moment.

  She could imagine how bad it had been for her father to drink a great deal on top of the brandy that he had already consumed.

  At the same time he had always seemed so strong, and she could hardly believe that he could collapse in such a frightening manner.

  She thought of him lying pale and ill upstairs and felt as if the world was something very dark and she was afraid.

  “Now, you are not to worry yourself,” Lord Polegate said in a caressing voice. “I am a great friend of your father’s and I will look after him as I will also look after you.”

  He seemed to emphasise the last word.

  As she glanced at him and then looked away again, she told herself that he might be kind, but he was somebody she did not understand.

  To her relief the butler announced that luncheon was ready and they went into a large, impressive and, to Isla, a very beautiful dining room.

  The walls were hung with magnificent pictures and the chairs were upholstered in crimson velvet.

  There seemed everywhere she looked to be gold and silver gleaming in the sunshine coming through the windows.

  She was so worried and upset that she thought that she was not hungry.

  She had, however, been too nervous to eat anything last night before they went to the theatre and too tired when her father had left her at home afterwards to bother about food.

  Today she had made herself no breakfast, so she was, in fact, now very hungry.

  If she had not been so upset, she knew she would have enjoyed the delicious dishes that followed one after the other.

  She thought that she would like to provide them for her father when he was well enough to enjoy them.

  Since the butler and the footmen were in the room throughout the meal, Lord Polegate did not pay her compliments, but talked somewhat boastfully of his possessions.

  “I would like you to see my horses,” he suggested. “Although I say it myself, my racehorses as well as my carriage horses are unbeatable!”

  He laughed and added,

  “Although those who are envious of me try to beat me!”

  Isla then asked,

  “Where do you keep your horses, my Lord?”

  “My racehorses are at Newmarket, but the horses I ride are at my country estate, which is not far outside London.”

  He gave a little exclamation.

  “I have an idea! I cannot imagine why I did not think of it before!”

  “Think of what?” Isla asked, because she felt that it was expected of her.

  “If the doctor, when he calls, thinks your father will remain in a coma as he is at the moment, I will drive you down to my house and you can see my horses for yourself!”

  “It is very kind of you to think of it,” Isla replied, “but I would not want to leave Papa.”

  “It would not take long,” Lord Polegate said, “and until he wakes, what can you do?”

  “I wish to be there when he does,” Isla said.

  “Well, we can easily find out when that will be. My own specialist, whom I consider to be the best in London, will be here at two o’clock.”

/>   He called the butler and said,

  “Order my chaise and four horses for two-thirty. I am driving down to Polegate. Send a groom ahead immediately to inform them of my intentions.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  “No, no!” Isla tried to say, but Lord Polegate did not seem to hear her.

  As they left the dining room, she told herself that she wanted to stay with her father.

  He was the only thing that seemed real in a strange new world that had started with her appearance on the stage at The Oxford.

  Now it was continuing with her finding it impossible to refuse to drive to the country with this old man.

  She was sure that it was something her mother would not have allowed her to do.

  Yet however much she tried to protest, Lord Polegate did not appear to listen or did not intend to.

  ‘I have to convince him that I need to be with Papa!’ she thought.

  He had moved back into the sitting room, which she had heard the butler refer to as ‘the salon’.

  She was just wondering how she could explain to Lord Polegate that she must stay with her father, when the butler announced,

  “Sir Martin Simpson, my Lord, has just arrived!”

  “I will speak to him at once!” Lord Polegate replied, rising to his feet.

  Isla would have risen too, but he said,

  “Stay here, my dear, he will talk to you after he has seen your father.”

  He went from the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Isla started to pray that her father would not be as bad as he appeared to be and also that she could take him home.

  He might be very comfortable in this luxurious house, but she was sure that it was a nuisance for Lord Polegate to have a guest who was unconscious and required nursing.

  “Please, God, make Papa better – please – please – ” she prayed.

  The door opened and Lord Polegate returned, smiling.

  “Now, you are not to worry your pretty head,” he said. “Sir Martin is a very sensible man and without exception the best doctor in London. He tends Her Majesty and one could not have a better recommendation.”

  He laughed and continued,

  “Your father will have the best treatment as the King of his profession, a Lion Comique who stands head and shoulders above all his imitators.”

  “I am glad you have such a high opinion of Papa,” Isla replied.

  “I would rather tell you my opinion of you,” Lord Polegate said. “It will take me a long time and I shall be very eloquent on the subject.”

  “N-no – please – ” Isla stammered.

  She walked away from him towards the window, feeling in some manner that she could not understand that he was encroaching on her.

  She had no idea, with the sunshine on her fair hair and her profile silhouetted against the polished glass, how lovely she looked.

  Lord Polegate did not follow her, he merely watched her and there was a faint smile on his thick lips, which would have frightened her had she seen it.

  It was not long before Sir Martin Simpson came into the room.

  “Ah, here you are, Sir Martin!” Lord Polegate said. “Now let me introduce you. Miss Kenway, this is the best, the most famous and cleverest physician in the whole country!”

  Sir Martin laughed.

  “Now you are making me nervous! I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Kenway, and to tell you I am a great admirer of your father’s.”

  “How is he?” Isla asked.

  Sir Martin shook his head.

  “He is still unconscious and I am rather afraid that, besides having had a heart attack, he has also suffered a slight stroke.”

  Isla gave a little cry of horror and Sir Martin went on,

  “It may be nothing at all serious, but he must be kept absolutely quiet. It is best for him to have no visitors for at least forty-eight hours, not even you, my dear lady.”

  “But – I must be – with him!”

  “I think it would be wiser not and I understand that your host, my old friend Lord Polegate, has suggested taking you to the country. I think that is an excellent idea!”

  “But – please – ” Isla began.

  “What you have to do,” Sir Martin interrupted, “is to get yourself really fit in order that, when your father recovers, you can give him hope and strength so that he will soon be back on the stage. We cannot do without him, you know.”

  Isla wanted to know more, but Sir Martin had already turned to Lord Polegate.

  “Goodbye, my Lord,” he was saying. “I will call again tomorrow morning and again in the afternoon. I know my patient is in very good hands. In fact, as I have told you before, Hales is an excellent man and will carry out my instructions.”

  “Thank you. Sir Martin, and thank you for coming,” Lord Polegate said. “I shall take your advice and carry Miss Kenway off to the country to put some roses in her cheeks!”

  Almost before Isla could curtsey or thank him for coming, Sir Martin had gone.

  Lord Polegate came back into the room, saying,

  “Now we really must obey instructions. I am sure that you would like to go upstairs and tidy yourself and the horses will be around in ten minutes.”

  “I would much rather stay here,” Isla protested.

  “Against doctor’s orders?” Lord Polegate said in pretended horror. “You know as well as I do that doctors are like Gods whom we have to obey. Now hurry, my dear, I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  There was nothing Isla could do but do as she was told. She went up the stairs and was taken into a beautiful bedroom.

  It was not unlike the one her father was occupying and she was shown into the room by a housekeeper in rustling black with a chatelaine at her waist.

  Isla washed her hands and tidied her hair and felt as if she was being swept along on a tidal wave that she could not extract herself from.

  She insisted, however, on going back to her father’s room and having one last look at him.

  He was lying just as they had left him.

  The blinds were half-drawn and the room was dim and cool and she knew that Lord Polegate was right in saying that he was comfortable and well looked after.

  ‘I am being very foolish to complain instead of just being grateful,’ she told herself.

  At the same time she had the feeling that it was a mistake for them both to stay here.

  Whatever the doctor or Lord Polegate said, they would be far better off if they were at home in their own small house, where they had been so happy with her mother.

  When she reached the top of the staircase, Lord Polegate was in the hall below.

  As he looked up at her, the light coming from the open front door was on him, and she saw that there was a bald patch on the top of his head.

  He was indeed, she thought, an old man.

  ‘I suppose it does not matter my being with him unchaperoned,’ she thought, ‘although Mama might think it very unconventional.’

  Then she told herself that once again she was being ungrateful.

  No one could be kinder or more considerate than Lord Polegate.

  When her father was well enough, she was certain that he would be given the same delicious food she had enjoyed at luncheon.

  ‘Very much better than I can give him!’ she told herself.

  Then, as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Lord Polegate unexpectedly took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

  “Once again you are punctual,” he said, “and I think, my lovely young lady, that this is an exciting moment when I can show you my country house, my horses and many other things which I know you will enjoy.”

  “You are – very kind,” Isla said hesitantly.

  She took her hand hastily away from his and put on her gloves.

  The chaise she recognised as being as smart, if not smarter, than anything she had seen in Rotten Row. It was drawn by four magnificent black horses without a touch of white on them an
ywhere.

  Lord Polegate picked up the reins, the grooms jumped up into the small seats behind them and they were off.

  It would have been impossible for Isla not to enjoy driving in such magnificent style and she realised that Lord Polegate was an expert driver.

  They seemed to move at an extraordinarily quick pace through the traffic and out into the countryside.

  She reckoned that they were going North and she wondered if Lord Polegate’s house in the country was as magnificent as the one they had just left.

  ‘He must be very rich,’ she thought to herself.

  As if what she was thinking communicated itself to him, he asked,

  “Are you admiring my horses? They cost me a fortune, but I consider the money well spent.”

  “They are very fine.”

  “Do you ride?”

  “Whenever I have – the chance,” Isla replied.

  She had ridden, when they could afford it, almost every day, but it had only been in the Park.

  She had often longed to be able to ride in the country, where there were no restrictions.

  “Now is your opportunity!” Lord Polegate said. “I will mount you tomorrow on one of the finest horses you have ever seen.”

  “Tomorrow?” Isla questioned.

  “We will ride tomorrow morning,” he said, “if you are not too tired.”

  Isla smiled.

  “I am afraid that is impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, my Lord, I have no habit at the moment, having grown out of the one I wore in the past.”

  “I am sure that we can find one for you,” Lord Polegate suggested.

  She thought he was being ridiculous, but he went on,

  “My housekeeper in the country has a variety of different clothes for almost every occasion. She has collected them over the years from my sisters, my nieces and a number of careless guests who always seem to leave things behind them.”

  Isla looked puzzled.

  “Tomorrow we shall be in London,” she said, thinking that Lord Polegate must have forgotten.

  “In London?” he said quickly. “Of course not! You are coming to stay with me, my dear, and I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to being your host and how thrilled I am to have you as my guest!”

  Chapter Four

  When Isla saw Lord Polegate’s house, she was disappointed.