by Betty Neels
‘Yes, well, that’s all right, we’ll manage. I suppose we’d better not have any other people while he’s here? I mean, bed and breakfast people.’
‘I heard about that in the village. Well, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Heaven knows the place is large enough to swallow a dozen just as long as they’re not too noisy. Extra work for you, though.’
There was a movement at the door and Nicky came in. He said shortly: ‘Well, what’s the damage?’
Dr Grady glanced at him with shrewd eyes. ‘A slight stroke; nothing too worrying, I hope, a week’s rest should make it possible for your father to return home. He’ll need a nurse, I’ll see about that. Celine tells me he was asking for someone…’
‘He wants me to send for Oliver.’
Nicky frowned. ‘Oh, good old Oliver, everyone’s mainstay and prop,’ and at her enquiring look: ‘My cousin—he’s a doctor, worthy and dull. I suppose if Father wants him he’ll have to be sent for.’
‘I’ll stay here while you telephone,’ said Celine, ‘and would you ask Barney to come up and we’ll get your father into bed.’
‘OK, I suppose we’d better send for him. Let’s hope he can tear himself away from his precious patients.’
He went out of the room, leaving Celine vaguely unhappy.
‘Not much love lost there, presumably,’ said Dr Grady, and watched the ready colour creep into her cheeks.
‘He’s upset,’ she said softly, she didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Perhaps this cousin’s what he says—he sounds tiresome.’
CHAPTER TWO
DR GRADY came back that evening, bringing Nurse Stevens with him—a severe, stout lady, bordering on middle age, but reluctantly, if tinted hair and elaborate make-up were anything to go by. Celine relinquished her patient thankfully, showed Nurse Stevens to her room and offered a meal. ‘If you’ll just say when you would like your meals, I’ll come and sit with Mr Seymour,’ she offered. ‘Did you have to come far?’
‘Yeovil. I’ve told Dr Grady that he must find a nurse to do night duty; I’m prepared to sit with the patient tonight, but I can’t work all day and all night too.’
‘No, of course not. I’m sure he’ll get someone to share your duties. Until then, I’ll help all I can, and I’m sure Mrs Seymour will sit with him to give you a break.’
Nurse Stevens spoke bitingly. ‘I’ll decide for myself, thank you, Miss Baylis. In the meanwhile, perhaps I could have something on a tray later on—about nine o’clock will do. And something left out for the night, of course.’ She cast a disapproving eye on the faded wallpaper. ‘You have servants, I suppose?’
‘Two. But this is a difficult house to run; I’ll look after you, Nurse Stevens.’
Celine made her escape and met Dr Grady coming out of the drawing-room, where he had been talking to Mrs Seymour. ‘What in heaven’s name have you brought us?’ she demanded in a fierce soft voice. ‘She wants trays of food and wanted to know if we had servants. I didn’t know there were people like her left!’
He grinned at her. ‘All I could get at short notice. But if it makes you feel better, Mrs Seymour is quite prepared to sit with him for as long as needed, and Oliver is on his way.’
‘And if he’s anything like Nurse Stevens I shall crown him,’ said Celine crossly.
She was perched on the kitchen steps, slapping paint on to a worn out drainpipe when she heard the car coming. ‘If that’s Oliver,’ she muttered, ‘let him ring the bell—Barney can let him in.’ She had had a rotten morning after a short night, what with carrying up trays and answering frequent bells from the sickroom—besides, she had seen almost nothing of Nicky. It had been a relief when Mrs Seymour pronounced herself quite capable of sitting with her still unconscious husband while Nurse Stevens took some exercise, which left Celine free for an hour before seeing to the tea. She hadn’t bothered to pretty herself up, indeed, she had got on an old pair of jeans, paint-stained and none too clean, and a cotton sweater which had once been expensive, but now was a much washed pale blue. All the same, she looked quite beautiful on her stepladder, and the man who got out of the Aston Martin paused to look at her before strolling across the gravel towards her.
‘If you ring the bell, Barney will let you in,’ said Celine tartly, and added: ‘Good afternoon.’ She glanced down at him and saw that he was a large man, with wide shoulders and rugged good looks. His hair was fair going grey at the temples, and his eyes were very bright blue.
He looked up at her and smiled slowly. ‘Miss Celine Baylis, the daughter of the house,’ he observed placidly. ‘How do you do? I’m Oliver Seymour.’
Celine dipped her brush in the paint. It was a pity that she couldn’t quite reach the end of the drainpipe, but she went busily over a bit she’d already done till he reached up and took the brush from her. ‘If you’ll come down, I’ll just do that end bit for you.’
And she found herself doing just that, standing ungraciously while he finished her work, put the brush tidily in the jamjar on top of the steps and the lid on the paint. ‘Could we go into the house?’ he suggested gently, just as though she should have suggested that minutes earlier.
Worse than Nurse Stevens! she decided silently, marching him briskly towards the front door; he was going to be one of those infuriating people who took charge the moment they poked their noses into anything.
She flung the door wide. ‘Do come in,’ she said haughtily. ‘Mrs Seymour’s sitting with Mr Seymour—the nurse is taking some exercise, but I’ll find Nicky.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘Ah, yes, Nicky—of course.’
He had a pleasant voice, deep and rather slow, but something in its tone made her glance at him. He returned the look with a gentle smile.
Lazy, she thought, and a bit dim—knows everything better than anyone else but can’t be bothered. Why on earth is he here?
She left him in the sitting-room and went in search of Nicky, whom she found asleep in the drawing-room. The look of irritability on his face when she wakened him rather took her aback, but it was replaced so quickly by a charming smile that she imagined that she had fancied it.
‘Your cousin has just arrived,’ she told him, and was disconcerted to hear the deep voice just behind her.
‘Ah, Nick—a pity to have disturbed you. I’ll go straight up to Uncle James, if I may, and see the nurse later. Is Aunt Mary there too?’
Nicky had sat up, but not got off the sofa. He stared up at the big man, leaning against a chair with his hands in his pockets. ‘As far as I know,’ he said ungraciously. ‘It’s all such a nuisance…’ He caught Celine’s surprised look and went on smoothly: ‘It’s been a terrible shock.’
‘I can see that,’ said his cousin, his voice very even. He turned on his heel and Celine perforce followed him out of the room; she would rather have stayed with Nick, but someone had to show this tiresome man where his uncle was.
Half way up the stairs he asked: ‘I see you do bed and breakfast. Have you a bed for me?’
She said stiffly: ‘There is a room, yes. Have you come far?’
‘Edinburgh.’
Celine opened the bedroom door and went quietly into the room and Mrs Seymour looked up from where she was sitting by the bed. The delight and relief on her face as her nephew crossed the room towards her was obvious.
‘Oliver—oh, now everything will be all right! He’s been asking for you. Dr Grady is coming later this afternoon, you will be able to talk to him.’ She smiled at Celine, standing quietly by the door. ‘I don’t know what we would have done if it hadn’t been for this dear child.’
‘There’s a nurse?’
‘Yes, she’s out walking.’ Mrs Seymour pulled a face. ‘Very serious and severe and rather a trial to the household, I should imagine.’ She smiled from a pale face. ‘Perhaps you could use some of your charm?’
‘It doesn’t always work,’ he observed, and glanced at Celine as he spoke.
She ignored the look. ‘I’ll bring you a tray of tea
up here,’ she offered, and whisked away, down the stairs, for some reason feeling peevish.
She later took tea, tiny sandwiches and the fruit cake Angela had just baked, upstairs and arranged the tray on a table near the window before going to find her mother and father in the study. They looked up as she went in and her mother said: ‘I heard a car, darling—but we can’t take anyone, I suppose?’
‘It’s the nephew, Oliver Seymour. He wants to spend the night, I’ll get the small room across the landing ready for him. I’d better go to the kitchen and tell Angela there’ll be one more for dinner this evening.’
Mrs Baylis’s eyes brightened. ‘Really, darling, one wouldn’t want to be unkind, but we’re making money, aren’t we?’
‘On paper, yes. I don’t suppose Mrs Seymour will think of the bill at the moment.’
‘No, of course not, but Nicky might. Are we getting low in ready cash?’
‘We’re OK for a bit, darling. Would you make one of your salads for dinner this evening? I’ll get a couple of lettuces and some radishes, and there’ll be a few spring onions…I’ll get some apples from the loft, too.’
The Colonel looked up from his book. ‘What are we eating tonight?’
‘Lamb chops, and I’ll make a syllabub.’
‘You look very untidy,’ observed her father, but she didn’t have to answer him, for he was once more deep in his book.
Her mother cast an eye over her. ‘Yes, love, you do. I’ll see about tea and you go and change.’ She added: ‘Is he nice?’
‘OK, but I’ll get the radishes first. I’ve no idea, I hardly spoke to him.’
Celine went out of the side door into the kitchen garden, her trug on her arm, and filled it with things for the salad; she was grubbing up the last of the radishes when slow firm feet trod the path behind her.
‘Very soothing,’ declared the deep lazy voice, ‘gently pottering in the garden—good for the nerves too. Why isn’t Nick helping you?’
Celine straightened her back. ‘I didn’t ask him to,’ she said politely.
‘Did he need, to be asked?’ His voice held a friendly mockery that annoyed here.
‘He is on holiday,’ she pointed out sharply.
He didn’t answer that but went on placidly: ‘You must have been put to a great deal of trouble with my uncle ill in the house, as well as losing—er—custom. I’m sure my aunt hasn’t remembered to pay the bill—will you let me have it and we’ll settle up?’
Celine arranged the radishes in a neat row, not looking at him. ‘You’re leaving—all of you? I didn’t think Mr Seymour…’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he sounded avuncular, ‘of course we aren’t leaving, but we’re preventing you from having a house full, and the least we can do is pay our way.’ He took a radish from the trug and ate it. ‘Do you do the accounts as well?’
‘No, my father sees to that.’ She started back towards the house. ‘I’ve one or two jobs to do…’
He let her go without protest. ‘Of course. Do you mind if I look round the garden until Dr Grady gets here?’
‘Of course not.’
Celine had to admit, as she helped Angela in the kitchen and then went to lay the table, that he was considerate and kind. But Nick didn’t like him; she wondered why. And where was Nicky anyway? They had hardly seen each other all day. As if in answer to her thought he came into the dining-room and threw an arm round her shoulders. ‘Beautiful girl, isn’t it about time you spared a thought for me? I might have known that once Oliver got here he’d spoil everything.’
She set the knives and forks just so, very conscious of his arm. ‘I’ve been around,’ she said, a shade breathless, ‘and your cousin hasn’t spoilt anything. Why should he? Your mother was very glad to see him—because he’s a doctor, I expect.’
She didn’t see Nick’s quick frown. ‘Oh, I daresay. Hey, drop that lot of plates and come into the garden for a few minutes.’
She laughed, feeling suddenly happy. ‘I can’t—look, dinner’s in an hour, and I’ve heaps to do and I’ll have to go and change.’
‘Never mind that.’ Nicky took the plates from her, then tucked an arm through hers and walked her through the French window out into the garden.
‘It’s heavenly now.’ He smiled down at her, holding her close. ‘I had no idea when I came on holiday that I was going to meet the only girl in the world.’
Celine didn’t answer him, and he didn’t seem to expect it, but strolled round the side of the house towards the high wall of the kitchen garden, still warm from the afternoon’s sun. They were well away from the house when he stopped and put his arms round her. ‘You’re everything a man wants,’ he told her. ‘You and I are going to be very happy.’
Celine stirred in his arms. She felt shy and excited, but over and above these she felt as though she were being rushed along too fast. Nicky was going to kiss her and she wasn’t quite sure that she wanted him to, not just yet. All the same, she felt a keen exasperation when the old wooden door into the kitchen garden creaked open and Oliver strolled through, not twenty yards away.
He closed the door carefully behind him and beamed at them. ‘Hullo there, enjoying a little peace and quiet together?’ and instead of going off to the house, he strolled towards them. Without quite knowing how it had happened, Celine found his vast person between them, a hand on their shoulders, propelling them gently forward while he carried on a gentle conversation. She answered mechanically, but Nicky didn’t say a word—not then, at any rate, but when she left them in the hall, she heard him break into furious speech before she had closed the kitchen door.
Nurse Stevens came back presently, was served her dinner and went away to the sickroom, and Celine cleared away, put the finishing touches to the tables and went back to the kitchen. It wasn’t quite time for dinner and everything was ready. She slid upstairs, showered, changed into a little Italian dress she had bought the previous summer, did her hair and face with the speed of light and was downstairs again with five minutes to spare. She could hear Mrs Seymour, Nick and his cousin in the smaller sitting-room; her mother and father were there too and there was no reason why she shouldn’t join them. Instead she went to the kitchen again, picked up the tray with the avocado pears with shrimp sauce and took them along to the dining-room, where she met Barney, dealing with the wine. In the twilight, just with candles glowing, the shabby room looked rather lovely, and Barney, very neat in his black alpaca jacket, certainly added tone to the place. Celine wondered if they were charging enough for dinner as she crossed the hall and banged the gong.
There was no getting away from the fact that Oliver was now very much in charge of the party. Nick hadn’t bothered over-much about his mother’s lack of appetite, but his cousin, with a placid firmness which would have been hard to resist, made sure that she ate at least something of the meal. And he saw that her glass was kept filled too. Mrs Seymour had brightened visibly by the end of the meal, although it was only too apparent that Nick was sulking.
The poor boy, thought Celine, handing the salad from the garden to go with the lamb chops, the wretched man has taken over completely. Pompous ass, she added to herself for good measure.
She carried the coffee into the drawing-room when they had finished their meal and Mrs Seymour patted the sofa beside her and said: ‘Do sit down, my dear—you lead such a busy life, surely you can rest for a few minutes.’
‘I’m not tired,’ declared Celine, and meant it. She sat down, with a quick look at the clock; five minutes, ten at the most. She caught Oliver’s eye and coloured faintly; he saw so obviously exactly what she had been thinking. Indeed, she waited for him to make some remark, but he didn’t, just sat there, listening to Mrs Seymour talking about her husband’s illness. ‘Of course, everything is all right now Oliver’s here,’ she said quite happily. ‘He’s such a splendid doctor, and he and Dr Grady quite agree as to the treatment. And they say he’s responding to—to…’ She looked at her nephew, who said calmly, ‘St
imuli—pins and lights and so forth.’
Mrs Seymour nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, that’s it. I was telling your mother, Celine, that just as soon as it’s safe to move my husband, we’ll do so. I feel very badly about you turning away other guests.’
Celine said cheerfully: ‘Oh, it’s not quite the tourist season yet, you know, we didn’t expect to be full for another few weeks.’ She paused in thought. ‘And now Oliver’s here too, we might be able to have one or two drives round the country.’
‘Now he’s here,’ said Nick suddenly, ‘I’m going to take some time off myself—it’s not been much of a holiday so far.’
His mother looked at him doubtfully. She doted on him, but even she must have realised that he had contributed very little to ease a difficult situation, but his cousin answered readily enough. ‘Why not? I’m at everyone’s service.’
‘Well, I hope this lovely weather holds for you,’ said Celine, and got up. Oliver got up too and went to open the door for her. She thanked him coolly, not looking at him. He hadn’t said anything at all, but somehow he had made poor Nick look—well, uncaring. And he wasn’t that, after all, he had come on this holiday with his parents when he might have gone off somewhere exciting on his own. She was so very glad that he hadn’t.
She ate her own dinner in a rosy haze of vague dreams, so that her mother had to tell her twice that Dr Seymour had paid the bill and had had a chat with her father too. ‘Such a nice man,’ said Mrs Baylis with the faintest of question marks in her voice, ‘don’t you think so, dear?’
Celine muttered something, and her father, who hadn’t been listening said: ‘He’s an Oxford man, I thought he might be. Took his degrees at Edinburgh, been to Vienna too—quite a good man, I should suppose. A different kettle of fish from that cousin of his.’
