by Betty Neels
Celine had never thought of her home as being that before. She said briskly: ‘Well, if you care to stay, we have rooms and breakfast, and we serve dinner if you should want it,’ and she added the charges.
‘And the rooms?’
Celine told them, and stood aside as they trooped in. They decided on three separate rooms, which was nice because of the money although it would make extra work, and they wanted dinner. ‘If you’ll show us the menu we’ll let you know what we’d like,’ said the woman with the refined voice.
‘I’m afraid there’s only a small choice,’ Celine pointed out, conscious that she and Angela hadn’t really got down to much cooking—somehow, she hadn’t expected anyone. ‘Vegetable soup, homemade of course, or chicken liver pâté, local trout with vegetables from the garden, or chicken with lemon, and raspberry charlotte with cream.’ She watched the women exchange glances and added to be on the safe side: ‘Our cook makes delicious omelettes, if you wanted something light.’
They settled for the trout, the soup and sweet, and asked about drinks.
‘My father deals with those,’ said Celine, and went off to warn him. They looked as though they might drink Cinzano or port and lemon, and he would erupt unless she tipped him off.
The women went the next morning, and Celine was glad to see them go. They had been exacting—not quite complaining but always on the verge of it, and they had wanted late-night pots of tea, and sat far too long over their dinner so that she hadn’t been able to clear the table. They had patronised Barney without tipping him and remarked to Celine, ‘Do you keep a butler? What a waste of money, and he doesn’t do much, does he?’
Celine hadn’t answered that, almost biting her tongue out in her efforts not to say something scathing. All the same, it meant more money to swell the amount her father had locked up in the wall safe behind the picture of Greatgrandmother Baylis. Celine, doing careful sums at the kitchen table, decided that they were beginning to make a profit. Another month and she would persuade her father to get in the local carpenter to repair the rotted windowsills at the back of the house. Her mind flew ahead; then the plumber and someone to mend the roof and the house to be painted. Which would cost the earth, she warned herself, but if they could achieve that by the end of the tourist season, it would have been worth it.
Her thoughts wandered presently, she wondered where Nicky was and what he was doing; busy deputising for his father, more than likely. Oliver’s voice, successfully buried during a busy day, sounded in her ears. Try as she might, she was finding it difficult to forget what he had said, even though it wasn’t true. She longed for Nicky to come and tell her so. She thought about him during the whole of the morning, making beds, cleaning and tidying and getting ready the dining-room once more, and she was so absentminded at lunch that her father, never one to notice things, remarked upon it. ‘You’re usually chattering like a magpie, my dear—a bit off colour, perhaps?’
Her voice was very bright. ‘Never felt better, Father. I’ve been doing sums—if we go on like this we could get those windowsills mended…’
He looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps we should wait and see what the bills are going to be first. Extra lighting and so forth, you know.’
Celine forbore from mentioning that none of them had ever been very thrifty about turning off lights which weren’t needed, she didn’t think that they were using much more electricity than they had always done, but she didn’t argue. Her father, easygoing to a fault, could be unexpectedly obstinate at times:
‘I was wondering if we couldn’t take a trip to town and get some clothes?’ suggested her mother.
Celine poured their coffee and handed it round. ‘Should we wait just a little longer?’ she said at length. It was going to be hopeless—no, nothing was hopeless, she told herself bracingly, but it was going to be uphill work, getting her father to use the money on the right things. She added: ‘You’ve got that lovely grey silk you bought last autumn—it suits you beautifully, why not get some wear out of it and get something at the beginning of the autumn when all the new clothes will be in the shops?’
Her mother, bless her, was easily led. ‘That’s a good idea, I’d quite forgotten that dress. But what about you, dear?’ She frowned. ‘I must say you don’t wear anything very pretty…’
‘Well, I can’t during the day, but if no one comes this evening, I’ll dress up tomorrow. I thought I’d pick some peas this afternoon. They’re early this year, and a good thing too.’
‘Your father’s taking me in to the hairdresser—do you want anything from Dorchester, darling?’
Celine remembered the morning she had spent there with Nicky—she had been so happy…she said dreamily: ‘No, thanks, Mother. Will you be back for tea?’
‘Probably. Don’t do too much, Celine, there’s no need, what with Angela and Barney around.’
Angela, slaving in the kitchen and her corns fit to kill her, and Barney with his carefully concealed arthritis. Celine said calmly: ‘No, Mother, of course not,’ and the moment the Jaguar had gone out of the gate went to the kitchen, sent Barney and Angela off for a quiet afternoon, and finished the washing up. It didn’t take long, and all the afternoon stretched before her unendingly. She was just about to go into the garden with her trug when the telephone rang. She had lifted the receiver almost before it had stopped ringing. It would be Nicky…
It was Mrs Seymour, apologetic for not ringing sooner. ‘But there was so much to see when we got home, I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Oliver.’
Who wanted to know about Oliver, always doing the right thing? Celine longed to ask about Nicky, but instead enquired about his father.
‘He’s to see a specialist tomorrow; he really seems better and the journey didn’t upset him too much. We’re so grateful to you all, my dear, thanks seem so inadequate. I hope that we’ll see each other again in the not too distant future, and I’ll certainly let you know how things go.’
‘We’d like to know,’ said Celine. ‘Mother and Father are out I’m afraid, but I’ll tell them you called. Please remember us to—to Mr Seymour and Nicky—I expect he’s busy now he’s back home.’
‘I’ve not seen him since we got back, but he’ll ring later, I expect.’
They said goodbye and Celine hung up. In the kitchen garden, picking peas in the warm sun, she was furious to find herself crying.
She was wandering into the house half an hour later when a Dormobile came chugging up the drive. She put down the trug and went to meet the man getting out of the driving seat. A rather nice man, she decided, young and a bit thin, but with an open face and a great shock of hair.
He said good afternoon in a pleasant hesitant voice and looked over his shoulder, apparently for encouragement, because he went on: ‘I daresay you won’t want us, but we saw the notice and we thought how nice it would be to sleep in beds just for one night—we usually sleep in this. There are six of us.’
He looked hopefully at her and Celine was reminded of Dusty when he wanted his biscuits. ‘All grown-ups?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got six rooms…’
‘Well, actually it’s my wife and four kids. They’re all small.’ He was so anxious that she almost leaned forward to give him a reassuring pat.
‘If you want to of course you can stay,’ she told him. ‘How many rooms would you need?’
‘Well, if we could have the baby with us? He’s six months old and in a carrycot. And could the other three sleep together?’
She thought rapidly. ‘There’s a room with twin beds and there’s a put-u-up I could take in there. Yes, why not?’
‘What do you charge?’
She told him, halving the prices for the children, and asking nothing for the baby. ‘And we can give you a meal this evening if you’d like that.’
He hesitated. ‘Well, the kids only have a high tea.’
‘That’s all right—you and your wife can have dinner when they are in bed.’ Celine smiled, informing him of cos
ts, and telling him the dinner would be excellent. ‘We’ve got a very good cook.’
A small fair-headed woman peered out at them. ‘It sounds lovely, Jimmy,’ she said hopefully. The two of them exchanged smiles and Celine felt a pang of envy.
‘Come on in and I’ll show you your rooms and then you can put the Dormobile away.’
The children trickled out one by one, small rather shy creatures who took her hands willingly enough as they crossed the hall and went up the stairs.
Celine saw them into their rooms, left them to fetch their things, told the man where to put the Dormobile and went to make tea. Lemonade for the children and some of the little cakes Angela had baked that morning. There wouldn’t be much profit out of this lot, she guessed, but to turn them away would have been too unkind.
She took tea into the garden and left them sitting round the shabby wrought iron table, and presently, when they had finished, asked if the children would like to go to the kitchen garden with her while she picked some strawberries. They were shy at first, but presently they began to chatter and run to and fro, peering and poking at everything they saw and making friends with Dusty, who had lumbered out to join them. Celine picked her strawberries, popped one into each small mouth and declared herself ready to go back indoors. ‘There’s a swing under the mulberry tree,’ she suggested, ‘if you could get your daddy to start you off.’
She left them reluctantly; it would have been fun to have stayed with them playing in the garden.
She found Angela in the kitchen, explained about the cakes, had a cup of tea and sought advice about the children’s high tea. Barney, sitting in his chair by the Aga polishing the silver, advised ‘Sandwiches, and a nice boiled egg. There’s nothing nicer, Miss Celine.’
‘And a jelly for afters,’ put in Angela.
‘I’d like to give them strawberries, but there aren’t enough for everyone.’
‘Then I’ll ’ave a few for the jelly with a nice topping of cream and some of them little biscuits you made.’ Angela poured more tea for Celine. ‘And what about dinner?’
‘Oh, the usual, I thought. There’s plenty of soup, isn’t there, or some of those mushrooms done in tiny pancakes—we were going to have those anyway, and then trout—Father caught several, didn’t he?—and the strawberries and cream and coffee.’
Celine went away to lay a small table in the dining-room. She put a candle on it and later a little posy of flowers because she was a sentimental girl at heart and they looked such a nice couple. She decked the children’s table rather more austerely and had it finished just as her mother and father returned.
The family were still in the garden; Celine pointed them out as her mother went into the house. ‘And Father, could we spare a half bottle of that white wine you don’t like? On the house, I mean?’
‘Why not? I hope the children aren’t noisy.’
They were as good as gold, eating their way solidly through everything on the table and then going to bed after a bath. And later, when the children and the baby were sleeping, Celine served dinner. She had changed into a pretty sleeveless dress and Barney served the wine in the candlelight and it all looked very romantic. The young people ate everything on their table too, pausing to smile at each other every now and then. It would be lovely to have someone look at you like that, thought Celine, offering coffee, and know that there were four children, all yours, upstairs. Which naturally enough led her to thoughts of Nicky.
It seemed very quiet after the Dormobile had gone. Celine, whisking through the house with the Hoover and clean linen, found herself wishing they had stayed longer. They had had a lovely time, they assured her, and had meant it, and the children had kissed her without being asked. Perhaps she had missed a lot, living in the depths of the country, letting life idle past her—at least, until a couple of weeks ago; and she was quite enjoying her busy life. All the same, being married to Nicky and having a home of her own would be delightful. If only he would telephone, or even write.
He did better than that; he came the next day. Celine had just seen off an elderly clergyman who had arrived quite late on the previous evening and she was clearing the dining-room before going upstairs to make ready a room once more. It was a warm day and although it was still early she was far too hot. Going through the hall with a load of dishes, she stopped short at the sight of him. ‘Nicky!’ she whispered, and the delight was chased from her face as she remembered all the things Oliver had said.
‘Nicky,’ she said again, and this time with a question in her voice.
He hurried to meet her, took the tray from her and dumped it impatiently on a wall table. ‘Darling girl,’ he said softly, ‘but you knew I’d come.’
‘Well, yes—that is, I hoped you would.’
He had been quick to see that look; he held her lightly and kissed her gently. ‘You’ve been doing too much,’ he said softly. ‘You’re pale—was I such a shock?’
‘No—no, of course not. I’ve wanted to talk to you, Nicky… Look, will you wait just a minute or two while I see to these things? Better still, go into the sitting-room and I’ll get Barney to take in the coffee. There are one or two things I must do…’
He frowned. ‘I thought you’d be glad to see me?’
‘But I am, truly I am, but I must just finish…’
He said sulkily: ‘OK. But when can we have some time to ourselves?’
‘After lunch—you will stay, won’t you?’ She went to pick up her tray and said breathlessly: ‘Wait there a second.’
She was back in no time at all to usher him into the sitting-room where her parents were occupied, the one with a bowl of flowers, the other with the pile of letters he was reading.
They were surprised, but their manners were perfect; Nicky was made welcome, invited to lunch, asked any number of questions about his father, and they both forbore from wanting to know why he had come. Celine sat there drinking her coffee, in the seventh heaven, her face glowing with happiness, just for the moment oblivious of Oliver’s remarks. She remembered them later while she was making up the bed, but somehow they didn’t seem important any more. She would tell Nicky about them, and he would laugh and she would laugh with him.
She changed her dress for lunch and took pains with her face and hair, and her mother, glancing across the table at her, frowned faintly because she was so obviously a happy girl, and the only reason for that could be Nicky Seymour, and she wasn’t quite certain of him—a charming young man, but somewhere at the back of her mind she was doubtful about him. Even though she depended so much upon Celine, she still thought of her as a small girl, needing to be cossetted and protected.
Lunch over, the Colonel went to his study to have the nap he always emphatically denied, and his wife, after a token offer to help clear the table, wandered off to the small sitting-room, to read and embroider and doze. Which left Celine and Nicky.
‘Leave those,’ he said the moment they were alone. ‘Surely there’s someone to do the chores—why does it always have to be you?’ He spoilt it rather by adding: ‘I’ve come all this way to see you, the least you can do is spare me an hour or two.’
She said reasonably: ‘But Nicky, I didn’t know you were coming, and I must take these to the kitchen. Angela and Barney have more than enough to do between them.’
He shrugged and sauntered through the doors into the garden. ‘Well, I’ll be out here when you’re ready—I’ll have to leave after tea.’
A tiny voice pointed out that he could have helped her to clear the table: with two it would have been the work of a few minutes; as it was it was quite ten minutes before she joined him.
Being a practical girl she had the trug over her arm, if they went to the kitchen garden she could pick peas while they talked—besides, if she had something to do it would be easier to tell him what Oliver had said.
‘What’s that thing for?’ he wanted to know.
‘Peas, for dinner—someone might come later and we have to be ready.’
‘I don’t believe you think of me at all,’ Nicky grumbled. ‘Why do you suppose I came? Not to watch you pick peas.’ He caught her arm and threw the trug to the ground. ‘Darling girl, there’s such a lot to plan.’ He kissed her expertly. ‘Our whole future.’
And that reminded her. She drew back a little and looked up into his face. ‘Nicky—Oliver said such a funny thing when he left here. He said you had a wife.’
Nicky’s face went slowly red and then paled. After a long moment of silence, Celine said in a wooden voice: ‘So it’s true…’ She tried to smile and failed utterly. ‘I didn’t believe him.’
Nicky pulled himself together with an effort. ‘What if I have? We don’t get on—we mean to get a divorce.’
She drew away from him. ‘But, Nick, we can’t…you’re married!’
He tried to draw her back, but she pulled away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You silly little girl, because it’s not important. Good lord, everyone gets divorced these days, no one thinks anything of it.’
‘I do.’
‘That’s because you’re buried alive here. Sleeping Beauty waiting to be awakened by the prince.’ Nicky smiled, but she found she couldn’t smile back at him.
‘What had you intended to do?’ she asked him in a calm little voice.
His eyes slid away from hers. ‘Well, a weekend in Bournemouth for a start, just to see how we got on together, and then a pleasant…’
‘You don’t want to marry me?’
‘You’re a bit naïve, darling,’ he said coaxingly. ‘Look, let’s forget all this—damn Oliver for interfering! Everything would have been fine…’
‘Not for me, it wouldn’t, Nicky.’ Celine was managing to keep her voice steady, but she wasn’t sure how long she would be able to stay there. All she wanted to do was to run away and hide and scream and cry and thump someone or something really hard. She might feel better then.
