The Country Doctor's Choice (9 page)

She remained on her knees for several minutes, then got up and went to the china cabinet, unlocked it and took out a paperweight of Venetian glass, a smooth, circular object with a swirl of rainbow
colours expertly caught within it. She kissed it, and took a carved wooden box from the top of the cabinet, reverently placing the costly object upon its crimson velvet lining.

‘My New Year present for you, my beloved, to stay on your desk and remind you of me every time you use it.’

Bridget Hammond called it ‘No man’s land’, that week between Christmas and New Year, too late and yet too early. Shelagh remembered her mother’s words as Paul turned and seized her.

‘God, Shelagh, I’ve been needing this!’

‘And I too, Paul – oh, how much!’

From kisses they progressed to breathless culmination, and Paul groaned aloud as he climaxed. She wondered if anybody could hear beyond their locked door, not that it mattered, for they were unknown here. She felt his weight lie heavily upon her as his muscles relaxed and he slowly withdrew from her body. Outside the snow which had begun to fall on Boxing night continued to cover the whole countryside.

‘Wonderful, darling,’ he said thickly, lowering his head to lie beside hers on the pillow. ‘And you, darling Shelagh, did you come with me?’

‘Yes, yes, of course, Paul – you took my breath away!’

It was not true. She had not reached a climax.
The unfamiliarity of the room, her weariness after the drive, the knowing look of the woman who had booked them in as Mr and Mrs Thompson, and always the thought of her mother’s decline and the dreadful possibility of her death during this one night away – it never left her mind. Suppose Aunt Maura were to phone the hospital – oh, God forbid! If only it were possible to wipe away all memory just for a day and a night, to let her enjoy their lovemaking without being racked by guilt: guilt because she was here with the man she loved, in a discreet B & B near the sea at Eastbourne, and guilt because she was deceiving her mother. She could not abandon herself to his urgent lovemaking, and had to pretend that she had.

Slowly, gently, she rolled herself from beneath him – he was already asleep – then lay on her back, looking towards the darkened window, hearing the distant sound of waves upon the shore and his deep, contented breathing. A couple taking time off in No Man’s Land to commit adultery – but
no
, neither of them were married, which made it the lesser sin of fornication, though just as bad in her mother’s eyes; but her mother did not know, and would never know. Shelagh’s thoughts whirled round in her head, and sleep evaded her for what seemed like hours. Paul did not stir until the knock at their door at eight o’clock warned them that it was time to get up.

‘Shelagh darling,’ he murmured, reaching out to
touch her, but her head ached and she needed the lavatory and the shower where he joined her, holding her tightly against his body beneath the cascade. They towel-dried each other and went down to breakfast where they were served by the same woman who had booked them in, and who obviously saw them as an unmarried couple celebrating the approaching New Year with a snatched night in each other’s arms.

But Shelagh had come to a decision. While he ate eggs and bacon and she had toast and coffee, she suggested that they went for a walk along the shore – ‘to clear our heads and get some fresh air into our lungs’ – and he agreed, though added that they would have to leave by ten at the latest to get to Everham by midday; they were both on call for the afternoon and the rest of the day and night.

Beneath a grey sky, beside a grey sea, they strode against the whirling snowflakes.

‘Paul.’

‘Yes, my love – you’ll have to shout!’

‘Paul!’ She raised her voice. ‘When will you take me to meet your parents?’

‘Not yet, darling. It’s a long way to Carlisle, but we’ll go there all in good time. It’s a case of finding the right moment.’

‘What about when we get officially engaged?’

‘Not yet, Shelagh, not just yet. There are all sorts of factors – money, a home, our careers – as we’ve
always agreed,’ he shouted, holding his scarf in the teeth of the wind.

‘My mother’s dying,’ she said, loudly enough for him to hear. ‘And it would be wrong to tell her that we have definite plans for the future when we haven’t. She’d be heartbroken if she knew that we – if she knew about this. But I’d like you to meet her before she – she goes, just as a close friend of mine.’

She had said rather more than she had intended, but he had heard what was
not
said, and knew that an answer was required.

‘Listen, Shelagh my love, I’d like to meet your mother, and I’ll tell her that we’re getting engaged at midsummer – and married by the next midsummer. Is that how you want it to be?’

‘Oh, Paul, dearest Paul, you know I do! I’m sorry – I’ll take you to meet her just as soon as you like.’ She stopped to kiss him. ‘Only – she mustn’t know that we – that we are more than friends – you do understand that, don’t you?’

‘’Course I do, darling, just as you wish, as soon as you can fix it up. Come on now, it’s time we were on the road, especially with this snow piling up!’

Talk of the scene in St Matthew’s church on Christmas morning rumbled on.

‘What an exhibition! She must be completely infatuated with him.’

‘Poor soul.’

‘Silly woman, behaving like that in public!’

‘What on earth must Mrs Bolt think? And those two nice-looking boys!’

‘What d’you think he’ll do about it?’

‘Don’t know. What I say is, there’s no smoke without fire.’

‘What d’you mean by that?’

‘He may have led her on in the first place, we don’t know.’

‘He was kissing her at her mother’s funeral.’

Daphne Bolt could not keep silent. ‘You’ve been seen outside her house, talking to her in the street, walking together in the churchyard like a couple of lovesick teenagers. It’s hard enough being a vicar’s wife without this sort of humiliation. Let me tell you, if anything like this ever happens again, I’ll deal with the woman myself.’

Derek Bolt saw that she meant it. He understood her fury, but what could he do? He could hardly forbid Beryl Johnson her right as a parishioner to attend her church.

‘Bridie darlin’, here’s your tea.’

‘Ah, Maura, you’re a saint! What time is it?’

‘Nearly eight o’clock, and gettin’ light. How did ye sleep, dear? I didn’t hear ye movin’ around at all.’

‘Sure I had a grand night – just out to the commode once, and then I slept again.’

‘No pain?’ Maura helped her sister to sit up and
drink her tea. Her thin fingers clasped around the mug looked almost transparent.

‘None at all, Maura. In fact I had a wonderful dream, it was so real! I was layin’ here, and the room was full o’ light, like bright sunshine. Then I seemed to be floatin’ up in the air, so calm, so peaceful it was. Yeself and Rose were with me, and ye were cryin’. I told ye not to cry, and ye stopped and put your arms around each other—’

‘Holy Mary, Mother o’ God!’ breathed Maura, crossing herself. ‘Ye should have called me, Bridie, I’d have phoned the hospital, and asked Shelagh to come!’

‘No, no, Maura, there was no need to call Shelagh, when she was probably helpin’ a poor woman givin’ birth. This was so beautiful, I thought I was near to heaven, but then there was a voice or somethin’ inside me, that said I must come down to earth, the time wasn’t ready yet.’

‘Oh, sweet heaven, it must’ve been an angel drawin’ ye back.’ Maura wiped her eyes. ‘Shelagh should’ve been here.’

‘Not in the middle o’ the night, Maura, but some time today ye can send for Father Orlando from Our Lady of Pity, to bring me the Blessed Sacrament. We can receive it together with Shelagh.’

Maura nodded. ‘I’ll call Father Orlando straight away.’ And I’ll make sure Shelagh’s here too, she added to herself. Bridie was getting near to the end,
and Maura knew that her sister’s daughter would want to be summoned if this strange experience happened again.

For Maura was certain that Bridget’s guardian angel had drawn her back to earth in time to bid her daughter farewell.

Shelagh hurried to the doctors’ quarters, threw on her white coat and activated the pager which immediately began to bleep. She practically ran along the corridor leading to the Maternity Department, almost twenty minutes late, Paul’s car having been held upon the journey back from Eastbourne by the still heavily falling snow. She went straight to the office of the Delivery Unit, where Laurie Moffatt sat at the desk.

‘The switchboard’s been looking for you, Dr Hammond,’ she said. ‘We told them that you were expected back by two’ – she glanced at the wall clock which showed twenty minutes past – and Dr McDowall said he’d take over until you arrived.’

‘Heavens, I’m terribly sorry,’ panted Shelagh. ‘So where is he now? I must relieve him as soon as possible.’

‘There’s no emergency here, doctor – but when he phoned the switch, they told him there was an outside call for you,’ said Laurie with a curious look.

‘Oh, my God,’ Shelagh whispered, thinking of her mother. ‘I’ll ring switch now.’

With trembling fingers she dialled the number, to
be told that Dr McDowall had taken the call on her behalf.

‘We couldn’t locate you anywhere, Dr Hammond,’ said the girl on the switchboard. ‘Dr McDowall said he knew the person who was calling, a Miss Carlin, and he told her he’d pass the message on to you.’

Shelagh froze with fear. ‘I must find him, then, as soon as I can – oh, my God!’ She felt suddenly faint, and sat down heavily on one of the plastic office chairs.

‘Are you all right, Dr Hammond?’ asked Laurie, and Shelagh shook her head, conscious of the thudding of her heart.

Which was when Dr Leigh McDowall strode into the office. ‘
There
you are, Dr Hammond, we were about to send out a search party. Where the dickens have you been?’

He nodded to Laurie who got up and left the office, closing the door behind her.

Her face chalk-white, Shelagh asked, ‘W-what was the message you took from my aunt Maura, Leigh?’

‘Nothing desperate, though it sounds as if your mother had a very strange dream in the night, and Miss Carlin has sent for a priest to give them Holy Communion. She wants you to go home this afternoon and share it with them, so you’d better go now.’

Shelagh almost wept with relief. ‘What? Well, no, I can’t, I’m back on duty. I’ll ring my aunt now.’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Shelagh.’ He spoke seriously, and she looked up.

‘Why not?’

‘Your good aunt informed me that you had been on call for the past day and night, so she believes you to be free this afternoon, and able to spend this hour with your mother.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ This time she did not look up. ‘You’ve caught me out in a lie, then.’

‘So it would appear, although your affairs are no concern of mine. I didn’t give you away, I just told Miss Carlin that you’d be there this afternoon. So give me your bleep, and I’ll take over for the next hour.’

She knew that he had been on call for the past day and night, and should now be free for the rest of the day. She got to her feet, her knees weak.

‘I have to thank you, Leigh.’

‘Don’t bother. I’d lie in my teeth to spare your mother distress. And keep quiet about everything. I won’t ask you where you’ve been, or who was with you, it’s no business of mine – but be careful, Shelagh. You might not get off so easily another time.’

She could hardly meet his unsmiling eyes.

‘Happy New Year, Mum!’

Phyllis Maynard welcomed her daughter and son-in-law on New Year’s Day with hugs and kisses.
It was good to see Jenny’s eyes looking bright, and Tim gave her a conspiratorial grin. Something was afoot. She waited.

‘This is for you, Mum,’ said Jenny, taking a bottle of her mother’s favourite sherry out of her bag.

‘And so is this, Phyllis,’ added Tim, producing a box of high quality chocolates.

‘Oh, my dears, you really shouldn’t!’ She deeply appreciated their kindness at such a time, no longer having Ben to share the New Year with her. ‘You’ve been much too extravagant, but I’ll share them and enjoy them. Thank you!’

‘And we – er – wonder if you could give these to aunt Mary,’ Jenny went on, producing another bottle of sherry and another box of chocolates, ‘just to thank her for that
Daily Mail
cutting.’

‘Mary? Oh, you mean Mary Whittaker? Does this mean—are you going to—’

‘Yes, Mum, we’ve got ourselves on the books of an adoption agency, and we both feel that it’s the right thing to do, don’t we, Tim?’

‘That’s right, Phyllis, we do,’ he smiled and nodded.

‘But Tim, your parents aren’t in favour of—’

‘My mother will come round to the idea, and my father will follow,’ he replied with conviction. ‘And in any case, my wife’s wishes come before theirs – so we have to thank you and Mrs Whittaker for getting us started!’

‘It’s the answer to all our prayers, Mum, like a
ray of light in the darkness,’ added Jenny, and Phyllis saw tears in her daughter’s eyes.

‘Oh, my dears, let it be! May it all go well!’ More hugs and kisses followed, for she realised they were setting out on a journey that might have setbacks and disappointments along the way, and possibly unforeseen expense if they adopted from another country.

With hope in her heart, Phyllis prayed that they would attain their hearts’ desire.

When Maura Carlin took the coffee tray up to Bridget’s room, she found her seated at the window in a pool of winter sunshine. She wore the flowery quilted housecoat that Shelagh had given her in place of her old candlewick-cotton dressing gown, and looked up with a bright smile.

‘Was there ever a winter with this much snow, Maura? How will the snowdrops get through, buried under these drifts? D’ye remember Grandmother callin’ them the Fair Maids o’ February, bringin’ in another spring?’

‘I do, and it’s a promise of another spring for
you
, Bridie, never mind the snow. It’s a miracle, thanks be to God.’ Maura set down the tray on a small circular table, and marvelled yet again that her sister,
who had seemed near to the end of her life at New Year, was now gazing over the snowy back gardens of the terraced houses in Alexandra Road. The strange dream she’d had about coming back to earth after being close to death seemed to have done her good, for she had regained some of her appetite and had even put on a little weight. To Maura it was a miracle, even though Shelagh had gently told her that terminally ill patients sometimes appear to rally for a while, but that it is a reprieve rather than a recovery. How long it would last could not be guessed, but Shelagh had decided to take advantage of it and introduce Paul Sykes to her mother.

‘I’ve made a fruit cake and some o’ them cheese scones you like split and spread wid butter,’ said Maura. ‘D’ye think I ought to make sandwiches as well?’

‘Like those chicken sandwiches you made when Father Orlando called? Yes, let’s have some o’ those as well. It’s really good o’ ye, Maura.’

‘But not too good for Shelagh’s young man, we want to make him feel welcome,’ replied her sister. ‘I’ve put me best skirt and jumper on, and the mother-o’-pearl brooch.’

‘If he’s who we hope he is, he won’t want anything too fancy,’ said Bridget, and they chuckled together, anticipating news of an engagement between two doctors.

But when the doorbell rang that afternoon, Shelagh
stood on the doorstep with a good-looking man they had not seen before.

‘Hello, Auntie, I’ve brought Dr Paul Sykes to see Mother,’ she said. ‘This is my aunt Maura, Paul – she’s come over from Ireland just to look after Mother, and it’s a great blessing to us all.’

They followed Maura up the stairs and entered the bedroom, made bright by flowers, books and photographs of Shelagh as a baby and a schoolgirl.

‘I’ve brought my friend Dr Paul Sykes to see you, Mother. He’s a registrar on Mr Fielding’s surgical team, and he’s been asking to meet you.’

‘Hello, Mrs Hammond. I’ve been looking forward to this,’ Paul said pleasantly, holding out his hand. ‘Shelagh’s told me so much about you that I feel we’ve already met. Ah, I can see where she gets her looks!’ He turned to Maura, bustling around setting out the refreshments. ‘How is it that all Irishwomen are beauties?’

He sat down beside Bridget, and Shelagh stood behind her, pleased that Paul and her mother were meeting at last, though they had agreed that Bridget was not to be told how long they had been friends, nor the nature of their relationship.

‘Shelagh is very highly regarded at the hospital,’ Paul said, but soon discovered that Mrs Hammond wasted no time on pleasantries.

‘I’m proud o’ her meself, doctor, and if the pair o’ ye are lookin’ towards the future, ye’d better put a
ring on her finger, before another steps in and takes her off ye.’

He looked slightly taken aback, and glanced at Shelagh who blushed but was not sorry about her mother’s straight talking. Maura handed him a cup of tea and a cheese scone.

‘Mother has a way of getting to the point, you’ll notice, Paul—’ she began.

‘The fact is, I haven’t got that much time left, Dr Paul,’ Bridget broke in. ‘The Almighty is lettin’ me stay to see another spring, but there’s no time for shilly-shallyin’, and I’d like to see her settled before I go. If the pair o’ ye are plannin’ on gettin’ engaged, I’m happy if she is.’ She smiled on them, and Paul knew he had to give an answer.

‘I echo that, Mrs Hammond,’ he said with all the charm he possessed. ‘I’m happy too, if Shelagh is. The reason we haven’t announced it yet is to do with practicalities – our careers, our savings and so on, and also I’d like to get my Fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons, which should be by midsummer. I’ve already told Shelagh that we can get officially engaged then.’ He looked at Shelagh who nodded shyly.

‘What about an unofficial one, then?’ asked Bridget. ‘What about
now
?’

‘Of course, but we’ll keep it under wraps for the time being,’ he answered. ‘Until I get my FRCS, and have something to offer her.’

‘Oh, Paul.’ Shelagh’s eyes filled with tears of happiness at hearing these words which carried a promise, a commitment; there were kisses all round, between her mother and Paul, herself and Paul and herself with her mother and aunt.

‘God bless ye, Paul, and thanks for comin’ to see me,’ said Bridget. ‘We’ll be meetin’ again soon, I dare say!’

When the couple had left, Bridget begged to go to bed. ‘Sure and I’m worn out wid actin’ the dear old lady, Maura. Give me a hand – that’s right, thanks. And if that’s the feller she wants, I’ll call him son-in-law. But I could wish he was Dr Leigh.’

Thursday again. Blessed Thursday, the night of choir rehearsal, and Jeremy’s escape from home life. Since its Christmas success, the choir of St Matthew’s church had grown, and they had been asked to sing at local venues like the church hall and the old people’s home. There were the stars, Iris Oates and Rebecca Coulter, who encouraged the rest; there were the stalwarts, Phyllis Maynard and Mary Whittaker, and Beryl Johnson whose thin chirp was often drowned out by the others. There was the usual shortage of men, Wetherby and Pritchard being better than nothing, and a new acquisition, Tim Gifford, a passable baritone pressed into service by his wife Jenny, and Jeremy’s own versatile voice. The Bolt brothers had gone back to university, and Daphne Bolt no longer
came; Derek absolutely refused to join, which was a pity, Jeremy thought, because the man shouldn’t let Beryl Johnson keep him away, if indeed it was she who was his problem.

‘Good evening, friends!’ His confident smile belied his inner turmoil. ‘Are we all in good voice tonight? I’ve got plans for Easter, when we might do something from Stainer’s
Crucifixion
for Good Friday, and there are some beautiful pieces for Easter Sunday. But tonight we’ll do some hymn practice, to get ourselves into shape.’

He glanced towards Iris Oates in her fur-trimmed hood, looking straight at him with such love in her eyes, such sheer adoration, that he stopped speaking just for a moment, then recollected himself and got through the evening without looking in her direction again. But his mind was made up, and at the end of the rehearsal, he approached her.

‘Er – Iris – I’d like to sound you out on one or two matters to do with our repertoire, how we can best plan for the next quarter – perhaps over a quiet drink – would you mind? Have you got time this evening?’

Waiting for her answer, he held his breath, sure that she was going to refuse, until she smiled and said, ‘Certainly, Jeremy, that would be nice. Thank you.’ He was able to exhale, unaware of her own hope and fear.

Tim Gifford offered his car to ferry another couple
of ladies to their homes, while Jeremy drove Iris to The Volunteer, where they sat on a bench seat in a corner of the lounge bar. She asked for a sweet white wine, and he ordered a pint of Guinness.

‘It’s been a good evening, hasn’t it?’ he said.

‘Yes, everybody really seemed to enjoy it,’ she agreed, pushing back her hood. ‘Our choir – your choir is easily the best in the area.’

‘Yes, thanks to you and Rebecca Coulter – you’re the stars, and I’m grateful. You make it all worthwhile.’

She hesitated, not knowing how to reply. What sort of an answer did he expect? To say that she was grateful in return? So she just smiled and inclined her head.

‘What brought you to Everham?’ he asked. ‘It’s been about a year, hasn’t it?’

This was easier. ‘Not quite a year. I was looking for a job away from – from where I was living, and saw the advertisement in the
Nursing Times
for a second sister in Outpatients at Everham Park. The hours are from eight in the morning till five or six – it varies, but I get free evenings and weekends. There are a few evening clinics, but not many.’

‘And that’s what you wanted?’

‘Yes, as soon as I saw the advertisement I realised that I’d be able to join a club or an evening class – or even a choir! – and be able to attend regularly.’

‘A lucky break for St Matthew’s, then. And are
you enjoying life in Everham? Is it better than where you were living?’

‘Much better, and I’ve made new friends.’

She hesitated, and he asked, ‘Did you have a special reason for leaving your last job?’

‘Yes, I simply couldn’t stay in Chelmsford – that’s where I was born and brought up, and my parents still live there.’ She looked straight at him, and went on, ‘It was a broken engagement, the usual story, I suppose you’d say.’ She gave a little self-deprecating shrug.

‘I see. Had you been engaged long? I’m sorry, Iris, I seem to be interrogating you—’

‘It’s all right. Three years. We were saving up to put down a mortgage on a house, and well, he just got tired of waiting – said it was like a staled-off marriage. And he’d found someone else.’

‘Had he? Presumably a lady who wasn’t willing to wait that long before …’ He tailed off with a significant look.

‘Presumably, but it doesn’t matter now. I believe that I was led to Everham Park Hospital and to St Matthew’s – and to the choir. A new start at thirty-three!’

‘Lucky for us, then.’ She shyly returned his smile. ‘Where are you living?’

‘A bedsitter near the station, though not for much longer. I’m moving into a ground-floor flat, a very nice one. It’s on the Everham Road, on the way to North Camp. After all, I’ve been saving up
for the past two years, and can afford somewhere decent as well as convenient. But this must be boring you.’

‘Not in the slightest, I’m all ears.’

‘But you said you wanted to discuss the choir.’

‘Ah, yes, the choir. My Thursday evening refuge, my escape from the joys of family life, especially since—’ He broke off, and she waited with tumult in her heart.

‘You’re a married man with a family,’ she heard herself say.

He nodded grimly. ‘Yes, so I am. And I’m also a headmaster who runs an excellent school, well spoken of by the children, the parents and the Education Committee. And yet in my own home I’ve been a failure, and now I’m having to face the effects of that failure. I’m sorry, Iris, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this, I can’t expect you to understand.’

She heard a bitter edge to his voice, and saw that his fists were clenched under the table. Something told her that she was on the brink of taking a step that would change her life.

She remembered Denise North and Dr Hammond’s opinion of the girl’s mother.

‘Don’t worry, Jeremy,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but I’m listening if you want to talk. Whatever you say will be in strictest confidence.’

Suddenly he put his head between his hands, his elbows on the table. His voice shook as he went on,
‘Oh, God, Iris, I don’t know what to do – I’m at the end of my tether.’

Iris regarded him, longing to draw his head on to her shoulder, but they were in a public place. She decided to tell him about Denise’s visit to the antenatal clinic.

‘Don’t worry, Jeremy,’ she said again. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve met your daughter Denise – and her mother.’

He raised his head and stared in astonishment. ‘How? When?’

‘Don’t forget I work in Outpatients. I don’t normally take antenatal clinics, but sometimes when the midwives are all occupied – in fact I was there when Denise came on her first visit with her mother, and the doctor and I were in complete agreement that the girl was under her mother’s thumb, and had never been allowed to grow up. Her little boy was with them – he’s a perfect poppet, isn’t he? So I can quite believe what you say.’ Leaning across the table, she held out a hand which he quickly took and held in both of his.

‘My dear Iris, what a relief, you
do
understand – I thought you would, but I couldn’t be sure. You can see what a mess my life is in, it could hardly be worse, but knowing that
you
know and understand, that makes it easier to bear. Oh, bless you, my dear, thank you!’

Iris’s heart leapt, but she hardly knew how to reply. She could not tell him of Dr Hammond’s words
on Denise’s latest visit to the antenatal clinic, that the girl was big for her dates, and the doctor had wondered if she was carrying twins. Nothing had been said to her or her mother, for to be sure they would need to wait until at least thirty weeks into the pregnancy, when two foetal hearts could be heard, and two foetal heads palpated abdominally.

She glanced at her watch. ‘We’d better be going now.’

‘Yes, though I’d rather stay here with you.’ They stood up. ‘First I must take you home.’

‘You know that I’ll be thinking about you and praying for you and all the family – Jeremy.’

‘Thank you, Iris dear, you’ve helped me enormously.’ He pressed her hand, and held it briefly against his cheek.

When they arrived at the Edwardian house where she had her bedsitter, he led her to the communal front door and kissed her. It was only a brief touch of his lips on her cheek, but it sent her spirits soaring. Married man though she knew him to be, Iris Oates also knew herself to be in love again.

‘Who goes home? Climb aboard!’ Tim Gifford invited the ladies of the choir to accept a lift, and Mrs Coulter and Miss Johnson got in, leaving one available seat. Cyril Pritchard would have taken it, but was on his bicycle.

‘Come on, Mary, let’s walk and leave the seat for
a more deserving case,’ said Phyllis Maynard with a smile. ‘Rebecca’s such a size, she takes up two seats, and frankly I feel embarrassed in Beryl Johnson’s company – she just sits there looking anxious, and doesn’t say a word.’