“Oh, the Armstrongs? That doesn’t matter,” said Mark cheerfully. “You can put them off. They won’t mind.”
“I don’t want to put them off.”
“But I’m going on Tuesday!”
“I know. You said so.”
“Well, don’t you understand? I’m booked to leave on Tuesday morning, so this is our only chance for a final bust. We’ll go to a play together and have supper afterwards. It will be fun.”
“I can’t.”
“Bel, don’t be silly. We can easily ring up the Armstrongs and explain. You can go to them any time, can’t you?”
“I want to go. It will be lovely to have a weekend in the country.”
Mark was silent for a moment and then he said, “Really Bel, you’re most extraordinary! I thought we were pals. I thought you would give me a hand with my packing—and all that. There’s no earthly need for you to dash off to the wilds of Gloucestershire now—just when I’m going away.”
He was so surprised and reproachful, so blatantly selfish, that Bel was forced to laugh. It was not a very cheerful laugh but somehow it raised her morale.
“What are you laughing at?” Mark wanted to know.
“You,” replied Bel with spirit.
“Me?”
“Yes, you seem to think you can always have everything your own way.”
“What on earth has come over you!”
“Nothing has come over me.”
“Then why are you so queer? Why won’t you come out with me tomorrow night?”
“Because I’m going to the Armstrongs.”
Bel felt a qualm as she said it. Supposing they couldn’t have her? They had said “any time” but had they really meant it? Something unforeseen might have happened! But if the Armstrongs couldn’t have her she must go somewhere else. She must take a room in a hotel. It would cost money which she could ill afford but that couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t stay here—not possibly—she simply couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t go out with Mark for “a final bust”; she certainly wasn’t going to help him with his packing.
*
3
It was not until Mark had gone—angry and resentful—that the misery rose and swamped her. He had gone. She would never see him again. Bel had not realised how much he meant to her; how much she had depended upon him; how much she had looked forward to his visits. She realised it now. He had walked right into her life and stolen her heart. A lonely heart is easily stolen.
Pride had helped her to disguise her feelings but now that there was no more need for pretence she sat down in the armchair by the window and hid her face in her hands. Tears trickled between her fingers, tears of grief and shame.
What a fool she had been! She had listened to him and believed all he said. All the things he had said went round and round in her mind—all the things he had said! He had said, “You’re my sort of person. You’re a darling”. He had called her an “adorable little mouse”. He had whispered, “there’s nobody like you—nobody so sweet”. But it all meant nothing (probably he said the same sort of things to every girl he met; most likely he had said the same sort of things to Enid).
What a fool she had been! She had let him put his arm round her shoulders; she had let him kiss her—not once but several times! Oh, what a fool! thought Bel, her face burning with shame at the recollection.
Presently she heard the clock strike—the big clock on the church-tower. She counted the strokes—nine of them! Nine o’clock! She had no idea it was so late! If she were going to ring up Louise there was no time to be lost . . . and of course she must ring up Louise tonight. She must do it immediately.
There were other things to be done if she were going away tomorrow. She must press her grey-flannel suit and wash a couple of nylon blouses. It was ridiculous to sit here and moan!
Bel managed to calm herself; she sponged her face in cold water; she took her purse and ran downstairs to the telephone-box which stood in the hall.
It took some time to put the call through but at last she managed to get the number she wanted.
Louise answered the phone. Her pretty light voice came over the wire quite clearly. “This is Dr. Armstrong’s house.”
“Louise,” said Bel breathlessly. “Louise, this is Bel—Bel Lamington. You said I was to ring you up if I could come.”
“Yes, of course. When can you come?”
“Tomorrow—if that’s any good. I could come after I’ve finished work at the office.”
“Bel! How lovely!”
“Are you sure it’s all right?”
“It’s perfect. There’s a train at 6.20. Could you manage that?”
“Yes,” said Bel. “Yes, I could. Are you sure it’s all right?”
“Of course I’m sure. It will be lovely to have you. How long can you stay?”
“Just until Monday.”
“Oh, nonsense! You must stay at least a week.”
“I can’t—really. I shall have to be back at the office on Monday morning.”
“Tell your boss you must have a holiday.”
Bel laughed—she could not help it. She imagined herself saying to Mr. Brownlee that she “must have a holiday”. Of course Louise did not understand. Louise was safe. Louise did not know what it was like to lie awake at night—hour after hour—and think about what might happen if she lost her job for some reason or other—if she were ill, for instance.
“Bel, you must,” declared Louise. “You can’t go back to London on Monday. It’s ridiculous.”
“I might get an extra day,” said Bel doubtfully. “I’ll ask Mr. Brownlee and see what he thinks about it.”
“Yes, do. Stay as long as you can. There’s a dance at the Golf Club so be sure to bring a party frock.”
“I haven’t got one.”
“You can wear one of mine.”
“But Louise——”
“Don’t be silly,” said Louise’s laughing voice. “Of course you must come to the dance and of course you can wear my frock. If it doesn’t fit we can alter it—see?”
There was no time to say more—the pips sounded and the connection was cut—but it did not matter. All that was necessary had been said.
As Bel climbed the stairs she decided that it would be a very good plan to ask Mr. Brownlee for an extra day. If she could have Monday off and return on Tuesday Mark would have gone. He had gone already as far as Bel was concerned—she faced that thought—so it would be better if she did not see him again.
Part Two
Chapter Eight
The Armstrongs’ house was in the middle of the town; the door with the doctor’s plate upon it opened on to the main street but there was a pleasant garden behind the house which sloped down to a slow-moving stream. Bel’s room looked out into the garden and when she had unpacked and changed she leaned out of the window and saw the trees and listened to the singing of the birds. How lovely it was! How fresh and green! Already Bel felt more peaceful and less tangled up in her mind.
Presently Louise came and joined her.
“This is perfect,” said Louise. “We’re going to have fun together, we’re going to talk and talk.”
There certainly was a great deal to talk about. There was school for instance. Bel remembered Louise standing up at the School Concert and reciting “The Wreck of the Hesperus”.
“Oh no!” cried Louise, giggling. “What a horrible thing to remember! Such a stupid poem, isn’t it? I wonder why they made us learn such rubbish. There are lots of lovely poems we could have learnt.”
“Do you remember it?”
“Of course I do! That’s what’s so silly. It’s such a waste remembering things like that. It does you no good and clutters up your brain. I can remember feeling frightfully embarrassed when I came to the bit about the skipper’s daughter: ‘Her bosom white as the hawthorn buds that open in the month of May’. It’s a private sort of word, isn’t it? And how did they know what the wretched girl’s bosom was like? She ought to ha
ve worn more clothes.”
Bel laughed quite heartily. It was impossible to be miserable when Louise was anywhere about.
Like all doctors’ houses it was busy. The telephone rang constantly. The doctor went on his rounds and in the afternoons and evenings he saw patients in his surgery. Louise ran the house, answered the telephone and made notes of her father’s appointments. It was surprising to find that Louise was so capable for Bel had always thought her a butterfly—she had seemed a butterfly at school—but Bel had a theory that people don’t change, they merely develop. Who would think that the lovely fragile blossom upon an apple-tree would develop into apples? It was almost incredible when you thought about it—but so it was. The germ of the apple was there from the very beginning . . . and the same with Louise who had been fragile fairy-like blossom and was now sound fruit, sweet and juicy.
Bel soon discovered that Louise not only ran the house (and did so efficiently with a couple of dailies) but also managed the doctor. Louise decided things and usually got her own way. For instance it was Louise who decided that the doctor must have a new suit.
“Good gracious, no!” exclaimed Dr. Armstrong.
“Yes, honestly, darling,” said Louise. “It’s awfully important for you to look nice; it gives the patients a fillip if a nice smart doctor walks into their bedrooms. They feel better at once. I’ll get some patterns from Walker.”
“I could get a ready-made. It would save a lot of trouble.”
“But it wouldn’t look so nice, darling. I’ll fix it,” she added. “It won’t be any bother at all. Leave it to me.”
That was at breakfast on Saturday morning and when the two girls went out together to do the necessary shopping they called in at the tailor’s and chose a pattern and ordered the doctor’s new suit.
Lunch was at one o’clock—and how delightful it was to sit down to a well-appointed table and eat food that one had not cooked oneself! Bel had almost forgotten the pleasure of graceful living. She revelled in it, she felt like a different person. She was enjoying herself so much that she was quite surprised when Louise reminded her about the dance.
“The dance?” she asked.
“Yes, I told you about it,” said her hostess. “It’s on Monday night at the Golf Club, so you’ll be here for it all right. I’ve got a pink frock which I think will suit you splendidly. We’re pretty much the same size.”
“Miss Lamington is thinner than you,” said Dr. Armstrong.
“Oh, we can take it in a bit,” replied Louise. She added, “Don’t forget you’ve got to come, Daddy.”
“If I can——” he began doubtfully.
“Of course you can,” Louise told him. “Joan promised me faithfully not to have her baby on Monday night.”
The doctor smiled, but not very cheerfully. “I wish Joan’s baby was safely here,” he said.
“Poor darling, he worries so frightfully,” explained Louise when he had gone. “And of course Joan is rather a special friend, I like her awfully much and so does Daddy. They’ve been married for years and years and this is their first baby, so I hope to goodness nothing will go wrong.”
“What could go wrong?” enquired Bel, who was abysmally ignorant of such matters.
“Oh, lots of things,” replied the doctor’s daughter. “You never know with babies. Sometimes they arrive upside down or back to front—all sorts of things can happen. Of course I’ve known about babies all my life—ever since I was quite little. Daddy says I was an ‘enfant terrible’—most embarrassing!” She giggled attractively and continued, “There was one awful day when Miss Everton came to tea. She was one of Daddy’s patients, a spinster of ‘uncertain age’ and enormously fat. I asked her in a piercing treble if she was going to have twins! I didn’t mean any harm—I just wanted to know—but it caused a frightful rumpus and Daddy lost his patient.”
“You don’t mean she died!” exclaimed Bel in horrified tones.
“Worse,” declared Louise, laughing wickedly. “She went to Dr. Slope.”
*
2
It was such a lovely afternoon that they decided to have tea in the garden.
“Daddy will be here soon,” said Louise. “We’ll wait for him. Meantime I ought to plant out some seedlings.”
“I’ll do it,” suggested Bel.
“Goodness, no! You’re supposed to be having a holiday.”
“I’d like to do it, Louise.”
“You must sit down and rest. Here’s a new copy of The Illustrated London News.”
They were arguing about it when the telephone bell rang.
“Oh, bother!” Louise exclaimed. “It’s been worse than usual today—just when I wanted a little peace to talk to you. It’s probably old Mr. Corner having hysteria or something—he’s more trouble than all the other patients put together—but I shall have to answer it. You never know . . .”
The telephone call proved unimportant; none of the doctor’s patients was bleeding to death nor writhing in pain, and as the doctor had returned from his rounds by this time he helped his daughter to make tea. They came out of the house together bringing the tea-things and discovered their visitor on her knees, planting out antirrhinum seedlings. She was so engrossed in this delightful occupation that she was unaware of their approach.
“Oh, how naughty of her!” exclaimed Louise. “I told her not to——”
“Leave her alone,” said Dr. Armstrong, laying a restraining hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“But Daddy, you said she ought to rest!”
“She’s happy. When people are happy you should leave them alone.” He hesitated and then added, “That’s how Mark saw her. His picture is clever—even more clever than I thought.”
“It isn’t a bit like her. You said so yourself.”
“Not like her—no, but all the same——”
“You mean it’s her Thing.”
“Yes, obviously it’s her Thing—as you call it,” said the doctor with a smile.
“Well, what would you call it?” Louise enquired.
She did not wait for a reply (which was just as well because the doctor had no idea how to translate the word into correct English) but went forward with the teapot in her hand. As a matter of fact she was doubtful what to do. Obviously her father was right—Bel was completely happy in her self appointed task—but tea was ready and unless Bel could be induced to come and drink it while it was fresh and hot the brew would become undrinkable. Stewed tea was nasty—and unwholesome.
Fortunately the problem solved itself for at this very moment Bel looked up.
“Tea!” cried Louise, waving the teapot.
“I’ll just finish——”
“No, come now.”
The job was only half done, but after some persuasion Bel consented to leave it on condition that she should be allowed to complete it later. The compromise satisfied everyone concerned and the meal was consumed to the accompaniment of pleasant conversation.
Afterwards, when Louise had gone indoors to wash up the dishes, Bel returned to her labour of love and Dr. Armstrong sat in a deck-chair and read the paper. As usual the paper was full of horrors, which distressed the good doctor considerably, and presently he put it down and strolled over to talk to his guest.
“You like doing that,” said Dr. Armstrong.
“I love it,” she replied. “I’m not really a town-person, you see. I love gardens and trees and all sorts of country things. London is very tiring.”
“Couldn’t you find some other job—somewhere else?”
She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. “It’s a good job,” she said. “I couldn’t give it up unless I could be sure of finding another. It would be—dangerous.”
Dr. Armstrong was startled when he saw her face. He remembered that she was only two years older than his daughter but she looked worn and sad—and afraid. He knew fear when he saw it. Sometimes he saw it in the eyes of his patients.
“You haven’t been sleeping w
ell,” he suggested.
“Not—very well.”
“You need a holiday.”
“I’m all right,” she told him. “Just a little tired and—and rather silly. Lots of girls have to work for their living, don’t they? I mean they have to depend upon themselves. Perhaps I was too sheltered when I was young. Aunt Beatrice was like a rock. We weren’t very well-off but everything was all right as long as she was there.”
“You need a holiday,” he repeated. “If I were your doctor I should insist upon it. That feeling of insecurity is a physical thing. It’s because you’re tired, Bel. You don’t mind me calling you Bel, do you?”
“I like it,” she said, smiling up at him. “It’s awfully kind of you to—to talk to me like this. I expect you’re right. I expect I ought to get away for a bit, but it’s impossible just now. Mr. Brownlee is going to South America and he wants me to stay at the office until he comes back.”
“You’ll get a holiday later?”
“Oh yes, of course. I shall get a fortnight.”
“Where will you go?”
She hesitated for a moment and then said, “I don’t go away.”
“You don’t go away?”
“I can’t afford it,” said Bel in a low voice. “It costs such a lot of money. I just stay—in my flat. It isn’t too bad. I go to Kew Gardens and—and things like that. Sometimes I take a bus and spend the day in the country.”
Dr. Armstrong was silent. He leant against a tree and busied himself filling his pipe.
“It isn’t too bad—really,” repeated Bel.
“What about coming with us to Scotland?” suggested Dr. Armstrong.
“Coming with you!”
He nodded. “Yes, we’re going to Drumburly when I take my holiday. You could come with us, couldn’t you?”
“Oh no!”
“Why not? It’s an excellent plan. You’re so good for Lou.”
“Good for her? I think she’s good for me.”
“You’re good for each other,” he told her. “That’s how it should be. That’s why I want you to come. It’s a bit dull for Lou at Drumburly. She needs a friend—someone to talk to. If you would come with us it would relieve my mind a lot. I could go out and fish. I could spend the whole day on the river without feeling guilty.” He smiled and added, “Fishermen are selfish people, you know.”
Bel Lamington Page 7