Always And Forever (12 page)

‘Yes,' said Amabel gravely. ‘I'm sure, Mrs Fforde.' It might not be easy at first, but she owed Oliver so much…

They went up the staircase, with its worn oak treads, to the landing above, with several doors on either side and a passage leading to the back of the house.

‘I've put you next to my aunt's room,' said Mrs Fforde. ‘There's a bathroom between—hers. Yours is on the other side of your room. I hope you won't have to get up in the night, but if you are close by it will make that easier.'

She opened a door and they went in together. It was a large room, with a small balcony overlooking the side of the house, and most comfortably furnished. It was pretty chintz curtains matching the bedspread, thick carpeting and a dear little easy chair beside a small table close to the window. The small dressing table had a stool before it and there was a pink-shaded lamp on the bedside table.

Mrs Fforde led the way across the room and opened a door. ‘This is your bathroom—rather small, I'm afraid…'

Amabel thought of the washbasin behind the shop. ‘It's perfect,' she said.

‘And here's the door to my aunt's bathroom…' They went through it, and on into Lady Haleford's room at the front of the house. It was magnificently furnished, its windows draped in damask, the four-poster bed hung with the same damask, the massive dressing table loaded with silver-backed brushes and mirror, little cut-glass bottles and trinkets.

‘Has Lady Haleford always lived here?'

‘Yes—at least since her husband died. They lived in the manor house before that, of course, but when her son inherited he moved there with his wife and children and she came here. That was ten years ago. She has often told me that she prefers this house to the manor. For one thing the garden here is beautiful and the rooms aren't too large. And, being in the village, she can still see her friends without having to go too far. Until she had her stroke she drove herself, but of course that won't be possible now. Do you drive?'

‘Yes,' said Amabel. ‘But I'm not used to driving in large towns.'

‘It would be driving Lady Haleford to church and back, and perhaps to call on local friends.'

‘I could manage that,' said Amabel.

They went round the house in a leisurely manner. It was, she considered, rather large for one old lady and her two staff, but it was comfortable, rather old-fashioned, and it felt like home. Downstairs, beside the drawing room, there was a dining room, the morning room and a small sitting room—all immaculate. The kind of rooms, reflected Amabel, in which one could sit all day.

The last room they went into was the kitchen, as old-fashioned as the rest of the house. Something smelled delicious as they went in, and Mrs Twitchett turned from the Aga to warn them that dinner would be on the table in half an hour. Nelly was doing something at the table, and sitting before the Aga, for all the world as though they had lived there for ever, were Cyril and Oscar, pleased to see her but making no effort to rouse themselves.

‘Happen they're tired out,' said Mrs Twitchett. ‘They've eaten their fill and given no trouble.'

Amabel stooped to pat them. ‘You really don't mind them being here?'

‘Glad to have them. Nelly dotes on them. They'll always be welcome in here.'

Amabel had a sudden urge to burst into tears, a foolishness she supposed, but the relief to have a kind home for her two companions was great. They deserved peace and quiet after the last few months…

She smiled uncertainly at Mrs Twitchett and said thank you, then followed Mrs Fforde out of the kitchen.

Over dinner she was told her duties—not onerous but, as Mrs Fforde pointed out, probably boring and tiring. She was to take her free time when and where she could, and if it wasn't possible to have a day off each week she was to have two half-days. She might have to get up at night occasionally, and, as Mrs Fforde pointed out, the job at times might be demanding. But the wages she suggested were twice as much as Dolores had paid her. Living quietly, thought Amabel, I shall be able to save almost all of them. With a little money behind her she would have a chance to train for a career which would give her future security.

The next morning, buoyed up by high hopes, she waited for Mrs Fforde's return with Lady Haleford. All the same she was nervous.

 

It was a pity that she couldn't know that the doctor, sitting at his desk in his consulting rooms, had spared a moment to think of her as he studied his next patient's notes. He hoped that she would be happy with his great-aunt; the whole thing had been hurriedly arranged and even now she might be regretting it. But something had had to be done to help her.

He stood up to greet his patient and dismissed her from his thoughts.

 

Mrs Fforde's elderly Rover stopped in front of the door and Amabel went into the hall, standing discreetly at a distance from Mrs Twitchett and Nelly, waiting at the door. She and Cyril had been out early that morning for a walk through the country lanes; now he stood quietly beside her, and Oscar had perched himself close by, anxious not to be overlooked.

Lady Haleford was small and thin, and walked with a stick and the support of Mrs Fforde's arm, but although she walked slowly and hesitantly there was nothing invalidish about her.

She returned Mrs Twitchett's and Nelly's greetings in a brisk manner and asked at once, ‘Well, where's this girl Oliver has found to look after me?'

Mrs Fforde guided her into the drawing room and sat her in a high-backed chair. ‘Here, waiting for you.' She said over her shoulder, 'Amabel, come and meet Lady Haleford.'

Amabel put a cautionary finger on Cyril's head and went to stand before the old lady.

‘How do you do, Lady Haleford?'

Lady Haleford studied her at some length. She had dark eyes, very bright in her wrinkled face, a small beaky nose and a mouth which, because of her stroke, drooped sideways.

‘A plain girl,' she observed to no one in particular. ‘But looks are only skin-deep, so they say. Nice eyes and pretty hair, though, and young…' She added peevishly, ‘Too young. Old people are boring to the young. You'll be gone within a week. I'm peevish and I forget things and I wake in the night.'

Amabel said gently, ‘I shall be happy here, Lady Haleford. I hope you will let me stay and keep you company. This is such a lovely old house, you must be glad to be home again, you will get well again now that you are home.'

Lady Haleford said, ‘Pooh,' and then added, ‘I suppose I shall have to put up with you.'

‘Only for as long as you want to, Lady Haleford,' said Amabel briskly.

‘Well, at least you've a tongue in your head,' said the old lady. ‘Where's my lunch?'

Her eye fell on Cyril. ‘And what's this? The dog Oliver told me about? And there's a cat?'

‘Yes. They are both elderly and well-behaved, and I promise you they won't disturb you.'

Lady Haleford said tartly, ‘I like animals. Come here, dog.'

Cyril advanced obediently, not much liking to be called dog when he had a perfectly good name. But he stood politely while the old lady looked him over and then patted his head.

 

Mrs Fforde went home after lunch, leaving Amabel to cope with the rest of the day. Oliver had advised her to let Amabel find her own feet. ‘She's quite capable of dealing with any hiccoughs,' he had pointed out, ‘and the sooner they get to know each other the better.'

A remark which hadn't prevented him from thinking that perhaps he had made a mistake pitching Amabel into a job she might dislike. She was an independent girl, determined to make a good future for herself; she had only accepted the job with his great-aunt because she had to have a roof over her head and money in her pocket. But he had done his best, he reflected and need waste no more time thinking about her.

But as he had decided not to think any more about Amabel, so Miriam was equally determined to think about him. Dolores had phoned her and told her of his visit. ‘I told him that she had left York— I invented an aunt somewhere or other, a friend of her mother's…' She didn't mention that he hadn't believed her. ‘He went away and I didn't see him again. Is he back in London? Have you seen him?'

‘No, not yet, but I know he's back. I rang his consulting rooms and said I wanted an appointment. He's been back for days. He can't have wasted much time in looking for her. You've been an angel, Dolores, and so clever to fob him off.'

‘Anything for a friend, darling. I'll keep my eyes and ears open just in case she's still around.' She giggled. ‘Good hunting!'

As far as she was concerned she didn't intend to do any more about it, although she did once ask idly if anyone had seen Amabel or her visitor when she had her coffee in the patisserie. But the girl behind the counter didn't like Dolores; she had treated Amabel shabbily and she had no need to know that that nice man had gone back one evening and told her that Amabel and her companions were safe with him.

Miriam had phoned Oliver's house several times to be told by Bates that his master was not home.

‘He's gone away again?' she'd asked sharply.

‘No. No, miss. I assume that he's very busy at the hospital.'

He told the doctor when he returned in the evening. ‘Mrs Potter-Stokes, sir, has been ringing up on several occasions. I took it upon myself to say that you were at the hospital. She didn't wish to leave a message.' He lowered his eyes. ‘I should have told you sooner, sir, but you have been away from home a good deal.'

‘Quite right, Bates. If she should phone again, will you tell her that I'm very busy at the moment? Put it nicely.'

Bates murmured assent, concealing satisfaction; he disliked Mrs Potter-Stokes.

It was entirely by chance that Miriam met a friend of her mother's one morning. A pleasant lady who enjoyed a gossip.

‘My dear, I don't seem to have seen you lately. You and Oliver Fforde are usually together…' She frowned. ‘He is coming to dinner on Thursday, but someone or other told me that you were away.'

‘Away? No, I shall be at home for the next few weeks.' Miriam contrived to look wistful. 'Oliver and I have been trying to meet for days—he's so busy; you would never believe how difficult it is to snatch an hour or two together.'

Her companion, a woman without guile and not expecting it in others, said at once, ‘My dear Miriam, you must come to dinner. At least you can sit with each other and have a little time together. I'll get another man to make up the numbers.'

Miriam laid a hand on her arm. ‘Oh, how kind of you; if only we can see each other for a while we can arrange to meet.'

Miriam went home well satisfied, so sure of her charm and looks that she was positive that Oliver, seeing her again, would resume their friendship and forget that silly girl.

But she was to be disappointed. He greeted her with his usual friendly smile, listened to her entertaining chatter, and with his usual beautiful manners evaded her questions as to where he had been. It was vexing that despite all her efforts he was still no more than one of her many friends.

At the end of the evening he drove her home, but he didn't accept her invitation to go in for a drink.

‘I must be up early,' he told her, and wished her a pleasantly cool goodnight.

Miriam went angrily to her bed. She could find no fault in his manner towards her, but she had lost whatever hold
she'd thought she had on him. Which made her all the more determined to do something about it. She had always had everything she wanted since she was a small girl, and now she wanted Oliver.

It was several days later that, an unwilling fourth at one of her mother's bridge parties, she heard someone remark, ‘Such a pity he cannot spare the time to join us; he's going away for the weekend…'

The speaker turned to Miriam. ‘I expect you knew that already, my dear?'

Miriam stopped herself just in time from trumping her partner's ace.

‘Yes, yes, I do. He's very fond of his mother…'

‘She lives at such a pleasant place. He's going to see an old aunt as well.' She laughed. ‘Not a very exciting weekend for him. You won't be with him, Miriam?' The speaker glanced at her slyly.

‘No, I'd already promised to visit an old schoolfriend.'

Miriam thought about that later. There was no reason why Oliver shouldn't visit an old aunt; there was no reason why she should feel uneasy about it. But she did.

She waited for a day or two and then phoned him, keeping her voice deliberately light and understanding. There was rather a good film on; how about them going to see it together at the weekend?

‘I'll be away,' he told her.

‘Oh, well, another time. Visiting your mother?'

‘Yes. It will be nice to get out of London for a couple of days.'

He was as pleasant and friendly as he always had been, but she knew that she was making no headway with him. There was someone else—surely not that girl still?

She gave the matter a good deal of thought, and finally telephoned Mrs Fforde's home; if she was home, she would hang up, say ‘wrong number', or make some excuse, but if she was lucky enough to find her out and the housekeeper, a garrulous woman, answered, she might learn something…

She was in luck, and the housekeeper, told that this was an old friend of the doctor's, was quite ready to offer the information that he would be staying for the weekend and leaving early on Sunday to visit Lady Haleford.

‘Ah, yes,' said Miriam encouragingly, ‘his great-aunt. Such a charming old lady.'

The housekeeper went on, ‘Back home after a stroke, madam told me. But they've got someone to live with her—a young lady, but very competent.'

‘I must give Lady Haleford a ring. Will you let me have her number?'

It was an easy matter to phone and, under the pretext of getting a wrong number, discover that Lady Haleford lived at Aldbury. It would be wise to wait until after Oliver had been there, but then she would find some reason for calling on the old lady and see for herself what it was about this girl that held Oliver's interest.