Fantails (23 page)

He answered pleasantly, “How wise of you. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye. I hope you will have the happiness you deserve.” Her eyes were wide and blazing now as they stared into his. “But if I were you, my dear, I should remember that ‘there’s many a slip’!—Come, Solly.”

Without a word to Logie she swung round and went. Solly, saying, “Thanksh very mush!” followed her. For the moment, speeding other parting guests, Logie forgot the unpleasant little episode.

It had been a happy day. After dinner, when they had sat with Vee for half an hour, they spent an hour or two looking up hotels in Scotland in the
Field
and
Country Life,
and planning their honeymoon.

Logie told herself it must be being overtired that gave her, when she remembered Zara, a queer, sick, sinking feeling of foreboding.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Overnight
the long fine summer had come suddenly to an end, and Market Blyburgh had wakened to streaming skies. For weeks those who had gardens had been clamouring for rain, but now they said lugubriously to one another, “Now thass begun to rain that ’on’t know how to stop, that ’on’t!”

Alison was wakened early by drumming on the roof and the unaccustomed chuckle of water in the gutters. Leaning from her window, she breathed in gratefully the smell of rain falling on dusty earth. The air was filled with pattering of raindrops on the leaves, and she could almost hear the parched roots gratefully quenching their long thirst.

It was still too early to get up, but though she went back to bed she did not sleep. Contentedly she thought of Logie’s happy letters; of Andrew, who would after all be home in time for the wedding; and of Jane’s delight in helping to look after John. His period of quarantine was over and he had not developed measles. Jenny had had it lightly, nursed by Mrs. MacNeish, who said she was “a real nice lassie with her head screwed on the right way,” which promised well for the time when she would be more or less in charge of John. He would stay on at Fantails for another fortnight, for as soon as Jenny ceased to be infectious she would go home for a week’s convalescence.

In the last week or two John had improved out of all knowledge. From a fragile and pathetic morsel he was fast growing into a lusty little boy. His thin legs were becoming sturdy, he had gained two pounds in weight, his eyes had lost their anxious look. Still more important was his more confident attitude. He had begun to develop more initiative, starting little games on his own account, using his imagination more, depending less on the suggestions of the grown-ups. He was eating well, too, now that no one appeared concerned if he did not leave an empty plate.

Jane was teaching him to swim in a clear, shallow backwater in the river. He had been timid to begin with, drawing back, clinging to Jane, squealing, “I’m not going to swim to-day. I’d rather wait till it’s tomorrow!” To which Jane had cheerfully replied, “All right. Good-bye!” and gone swimming off into deep water, leaving him ignominiously on the bank with Alison.

“I do want to! I do!” he cried. Jane returned presently. “Well, one more chance, but only if you’re sensible. I can’t be bothered if you’re going to be a baby. I promise I won’t let your head go under.” Next day he had been able to swim a few strokes with her hand beneath his chin, and in no time could negotiate the pool quite well on his own, although deeper water was forbidden for the present.

Even the policeman frightened him no longer. Alison had taken him past the police station at an hour when its custodian was often to be seen working in his garden. Sure enough, there he was in shirt sleeves, digging. She had stopped to talk to him, ignoring John’s tugging hand, and he had taken them to see his bees and made his dog die for the king, and John had come away surprised to find that Mr. Farrier was after all no ogre but a nice friendly man who could waggle his ears.

Hugh was enormously relieved by the change in his small son and deeply grateful for the part Alison was playing in it. He had come to Fantails every day while John was there, sometimes only for a few minutes, sometimes, when he had the time to spare, taking them for a run in his car, going to watch Jane giving him a swimming lesson, sharing a picnic tea on the river bank.

“We’re really getting to be quite a family party, aren’t we?” Jane had remarked one day when, after staying to supper at Fantails one evening after John had gone to bed, he had as a matter of course helped them to clear away and dried the silver. Hugh had answered, “And a pleasant thing to be, I think, don’t you?”

Alison had bent her head over the washing-up basin. Jane had answered quaintly, “Well, it’s sort of natural, and natural things are generally best.”

To-day was Sunday. Hugh, having been given a fine chicken by a country patient, had invited Alison and Jane to come with him and John for a picnic to the Broads. They were to set out about noon, after he had visited one or two urgent cases. They were agreeing over breakfast that the rain would make a picnic impossible, when he appeared. “I’m afraid this rain means our picnic must be off. I wonder if you’d let me bring lunch over here? Mrs. MacNeish has it all ready. It would be a dreary anticlimax to eat all by myself at Swan House, and unfortunately I can’t ask you people over there till Jenny’s out of quarantine.”

Alison said of course, they’d love to have him here. John asked, “Can we all sit on the floor?”

“We’ll see.”

“That means we can’t.”

“Anyone who wants to sit on the floor, may,” Alison compromised.

Later in the morning MacNeish appeared, bringing the picnic hamper. He was a thin dark man with calm grey eyes and a slow, quiet manner. “The wife hopes you’ll have all you need. There’s chicken ready carved to save you the trouble, and salad and rolls and butter, and meringues and a fruit cake, and cider. But she didn’t put you any coffee in a thermos. She thought you would prefer to make it fresh yourself.”

Alison thanked him. “It all sounds delicious. Please thank Mrs. MacNeish for taking so much trouble.”

“She bade me tell you, if there’s any of the cake left, would you keep it? The doctor’s seldom in to tea. And she put in a wee iced cake for John. He’s real fond of a sugar cake.”

Back in the kitchen of Swan House he told his cosy wife, “Thon’s a changed laddie! You’d be surprised the difference it’s made to him, getting away from thon perjinkety auld wife. More spunky-like.”

“I feel more spunky-like maself with her out of the road. We must just hope she’ll not get her foot in here again. Although, mind you, I would be the last one to object if he was to tell me one of these fine mornings that we were to have another mistress in the house. Not if it was her over there.” She jerked her head in the direction of Fantails, since her hands were occupied in rolling pastry.

“D’ye think there’s ony chance of it?”

“I wouldna be surprised. And who would blame him, poor man?”

“No’ me. She has that much sense, she might be Scotch!”

Not to be cheated of their picnic, Jane and John lunched on a rug spread on the floor. Alison and Hugh compromised by sitting on the window-seat. With their fingers they ate chicken and hard-boiled eggs and dipped their lettuce hearts in salad dressing. Jane and John pursued the same technique with the meringues, which were sandwiched together with chocolate cream, but their elders gave up the unequal contest and took to forks. When the remains of the feast were cleared away Jane announced that she was going round to see if Barbara would like to join forces for a walk later in the afternoon, in mackintoshes and gum-boots, when John had had his rest. Charmingly sedate and motherly she led John off to bed, then in her mackintosh went out to visit Barbara.

Hugh said, “I said I’d look in at the Cottage Hospital at half-past three. May I stay here with you till then? Or had you any plans?”

“I’d planned to overtake arrears of mending. It will be nice to have your company.” She settled in her usual corner of the window-seat, her work-basket and a pile of pillow-cases, sheets, bath-towels, and stockings heaped beside her. Hugh lit his pipe, then lay back comfortably in a deep chair. They talked of John. Hugh said, “I notice an improvement in him every time I see him. He looks so much more solid. And he’s lost that little timid air he had, of—I don’t quite know how to describe it—questioning pathos. Know what I mean?”

“Yes. And he runs out shouting instead of going about as though there were a lion round the corner.”

“I’m glad to see you leave the care of him to some extent to Jane. Good for him not to feel himself the focus of grown-up attention.”

“Good for Jane, too, to have responsibility. And she’s sensible. He’ll come to no harm with her.”

“I had rather a shattering interview last night with Lucia,” he told her presently.

“I’m
sorry!
Sorry for both of you. She must be so unhappy.”

“I’m afraid she is. I hadn’t seen her recently and went to ask her if she’d care to have a meal with me one evening. However, she went up in smoke. All diplomatic relations are now severed, so to speak! I fancy that she has at last allowed herself to realise that I will not on any account allow her to have a hand in John’s upbringing. I gather that she’s going back to London almost at once. The flat, by the way, was never let after all. That slipped out in an unguarded moment.”

“Poor thing ...
Poor
thing! Was she very angry?”

“She was beside herself.” Distastefully he remembered Lucia’s dark contorted face, the shrill upbraiding of her voice, crying, “First you took Melanie away from me and killed her. Now you have taken John. I only hope you won’t live to regret it!” (But her meaning had been that she hoped he would.) She had gone on to revile Alison, pouring out a stream of accusations and abuse so venomous and ugly that he hated to remember them. Fortunately the lounge of the Painted Anchor had been empty; nothing would have stopped Lucia, in that demented moment, from pouring out her spleen and malice. As it was, Mrs. Tebbitts had put a surprised face round the door to see what all the noise could be, and then withdrawn it, more surprised still at having seen the doctor’s sister-in-law, who seemed such a nice quiet lady, carrying on that way.

“Has she tried again to see John?” he asked.

“She tries most days. So far I’ve managed to prevent her from seeing him except twice, and then not by himself. He goes out so much with Jane, which helps. I never let her take him in the town, though, in case Lucia might see them and make things difficult for her.”

“I hate you to have such unpleasantness. Is she very disagreeable?”

Alison hesitated. “She doesn’t say much. But she exudes hatred so that one can almost see it, as some people see an aura! I feel such an interloper. Cruel, too, though I know it’s necessary for John’s good.”

Hugh frowned. “It’s all wrong that you should be involved in it. I’m more than sorry.” He knocked out his pipe, though it was only half smoked, then took up a ball of mending silk she had let fall and for a few minutes sat in silence, absently smoothing it in long, strong fingers.

He said at last: “Alison, there is a question I have been wanting for some time to ask you. I’ve waited, because certain matters are too vital to be hurried. Even now, we haven’t known each other very long. I feel, though, and I hope you will agree—I think you will—that understanding between two people need not be a matter of time.” He paused. Alison laid her mending on her lap and met his searching eyes with her own candid gaze. “You probably know what I’m going to ask you.” Hugh said. “I want to know if you will marry me, as soon as may be—if you and Jane will come to live with me and John at Swan House, or wherever we may be, and ‘be a family party’ as Jane put it”

Some women might have made a pretence of being taken by surprise. That was not Alison’s way. Frankly she said “I hoped you’d ask me that, Hugh!” And in her trustful eyes he saw his answer. He rose and took her hands, drawing her gently to her feet. “My dear—”

They had not heard feet running up the garden, crossing the yard, hurrying up the stairs. An agitated knocking on the outer door startled them, shattering the moment of climax. Alison found MacNeish there. “Is Doctor with you still, miss?” Then, as he saw Hugh behind her, “Could you come as quick’s you can, sir? There’s a trunk call. Very urgent.”

Hugh said, “I’ll be back with you in a few minutes. Wait for me!” and went quickly after MacNeish. Five minutes later he was back. “I’ve had bad news. I’ve got to go to London at once. It’s Howard Thellussen, the surgeon, one of my oldest friends. He’s been badly injured in a lift accident and wants to see me. It was his doctor who telephoned. Bell-Craik, a man I know. He says he can’t last more than a few hours. I can get there in three and a half. Howard was very good to me when I first began to make my way. Sent me no end of patients, helped me in every way he could. I can’t fail him now, much as I hate to leave you. Alison, you do understand?”

“My dear, of course I do! We should feel guilty always if you didn’t go. He has so little time and we have all our lives before us.”

“Bless you, I knew you’d see it like that ... You’ve made me happier than I’ve been for years. I’ll telephone and tell MacNeish to let you know when to expect me.” She thought when he had left her: it has happened. I’m going to be his wife. I’m going to share his home, his life, everything that is his. I have so much—more than I’d ever dreamed of a few weeks ago! I ought to be remembering how he said I’d made him happier than he had been for years, instead of minding so desperately that he can’t love me as I love him...

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Two days after Harrawick Races Sherry set out immediately after breakfast for a consultation with his agent, one of the tenants, and a local builder concerning proposed additions to the tenant’s farm-buildings. Vee went with him; he was to drop her at a neighbouring house, from where a friend would take her for the day to York for shopping and a film. Logie had been asked to go with them, but she and Sherry had already arranged to go that afternoon to order pullets from a well-known poultry farmer fifteen miles away.