by Betty Neels
The meal was delicious. It seemed to Celine that Mrs Pym had cooked everything she enjoyed most, all the same she found that she had no appetite, although she did her best. Oliver on the other hand enjoyed his meal, keeping up a steady flow of talk, apparently unnoticing of her brief comments and long silences. But presently they went back to the drawing-room and Celine poured their coffee with a hand which shook very slightly, so that Oliver asked: ‘Nervous, Celine? I wonder why?’
It was now or never, and surely he would be as pleased as she was to get the matter settled. Thus heartened by this quite inaccurate view of her own feelings, she put down her cup. ‘Oliver—’ she began, and found her nicely thought out speech had flown. But there was no stopping her now. She said in a rush: ‘I’ve quite got over Nicky. Even if he phones or I met him, I wouldn’t care any more. He’s just—just nothing. So we don’t have to be engaged any more. I’m most grateful to you for all you’ve done, I really am, and it must have been tiresome for you—I mean pretending, that we were going to be married when all the while it was…well, never mind that.’
She was looking straight at him, hoping to see some hint of his own feelings, but his face was impassive, even faintly amused. She took the ring carefully off her finger and put it on the table beside her. ‘I won’t need that any more—thank you for letting me wear it. I’d like to go home as soon as possible—I mean, you’ll want to get someone else, won’t you, but I…there’s heaps for me to do at home…’ She faltered under his steady stare and ended lamely: ‘That’s all.’
When he didn’t speak she said: ‘I expect you’re as glad to be free as I am,’ and then: ‘Well, do say something!’
He said at last: ‘My dear Celine, what is there to say? Naturally I’m pleased to hear that you’ve got over Nicky. Shall I add that I hope we’ll be the best of friends in the future.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘You’re quite certain that this is what you want to do, aren’t you? You didn’t like me much at first, did you, but I had thought you were beginning to like me.’
‘Oh, I do,’ said Celine feverishly, wishing this was all over and done with and she was back in her room enjoying a good weep. She went on talking at random. ‘It’s so nice to have friends, isn’t it? You’ve a great number, haven’t you? Those nice people living near here and—and their children. There’s a daughter away from home, isn’t there? The eldest, I suppose—she sounded delightful. Is she pretty?’
He looked at her with mild astonishment. ‘Very pretty and utterly charming. Shall we keep to the point, Celine?’
She gulped. ‘Yes—I’m sorry. You see, I feel awkward. I know that’s silly, because we never were engaged, were we? So there’s no reason why…’ If she went on much longer she was going to burst into tears. ‘Please take me home,’ she begged him in a voice rigid with control.
Oliver got up at once. ‘Perhaps that would be best, there’s not much point in talking at present, is there?’ He gave her a gentle smile and she held on to a table, otherwise she would have flung herself at him and made a fearful exhibition of herself, weeping and wailing all over him. Thinking about it afterwards, she found she couldn’t remember much of the drive back. Oliver had talked calmly of this and that, seen her into the surgery, wished her a friendly goodnight and driven away again.
She never wore her ring while she was working, so there was no need to explain anything to Maggie; she would know soon enough. Celine went about her day’s work much as usual, unaware that her pale strained face was giving Maggie a good deal of thought. It became even paler when Oliver arrived in the afternoon, but she didn’t falter in her various duties and answered him in a normal if slightly wooden voice when he spoke to her. And that was seldom. And before he left he called Maggie into the office and that lady came out presently looking bewildered, although she burst at once into brisk demands for Celine to do this and that and the other thing. It was only much later, when she was on the point of going home, that she said gruffly: ‘Sorry to hear you’re leaving us, Celine—quite a shock, I can tell you. But I suppose it’s better to find out that you’re not suited before you marry, although I could have bet my bottom dollar that you were an ideal couple. I’m really sorry, my dear. Dr Seymour says there are one or two girls coming tomorrow to be interviewed for your job.’
Celine’s face felt stiff, but she managed some kind of a smile. Oliver hadn’t wasted a moment, he must have been impatient for her to go. After all, the eldest daughter would be coming home any day now…
Four girls came for an interview and Oliver saw them all. Afterwards he told Maggie that one of them seemed very suitable, what was more to the point, she was anxious to begin work as soon as possible. In two days’ time, in fact, he added. And perhaps Maggie would be good enough to let Celine know.
Celine packed, did two days’ work with commendable efficiency, relieved that there was no sign of Oliver, and spent the last afternoon showing her successor the ropes. She was a nice girl, small and dark and dainty, and she made Celine feel like a giantess. It was obvious from the start that she was going to be far better at the job than Celine had ever been.
She still hadn’t seen Oliver, but he would be taking the clinic in the morning. She went down as usual and worked with the new girl then went to say goodbye to Maggie and Nurse Byng. Dorothy, back from sick leave, was stunned by the news and broke into a great many unfinished sentences, which Maggie ruthlessly cut short. ‘We’re very sorry,’ she said brusquely. ‘Heaven knows where Dr Seymour will find another girl like you.’
‘Well, there’s that eldest daughter of those friends of his,’ said Celine, turning the knife in the wound.
Maggie turned astonished eyes on her. ‘Her? The child’s barely thirteen—there’s been a joke going round about her marrying him since she could toddle—he’s her godfather, I believe.’ She paused. ‘Do you feel all right, Celine? You’ve gone very pale.’
‘I’m fine.’ Celine took a calming breath. ‘I must see Dr Seymour when he comes…’
‘Well, he’s here now,’ said Dorothy, and pulled her colleague into the first aid room, where, much against her inclination, she shut the door.
He looked tired and vaguely unapproachable, but Celine didn’t heed that. She began the moment he set foot inside the door. ‘Oliver, I must speak to you.’
He barely glanced at her. ‘Not now, Celine.’ He gave her a faintly mocking smile. ‘You know where to find me if you want me.’
She watched him go into the office and pick up the phone and start talking urgently. It would be no good, she could see that; what she wanted to say required his undivided attention.
She supposed he didn’t intend to say goodbye, but when presently she went downstairs with her bags she found David waiting for her.
‘I’ll take you to the station,’ he told her. ‘Dr Seymour is waiting for a phone call. He’ll be out in a second.’
It couldn’t have been a more public place in which to say goodbye. Under the interested eyes of a dozen or more mothers and children, Celine offered a hand and felt Oliver’s engulf it, but there was no chance to say much other than goodbye. That didn’t really matter, because she had heard him telling David that he would be at home and could be reached there.
She searched Oliver’s face as she shook hands, but there was nothing there to comfort her, only a pleasant smile tinged with a touch of impatience because she was holding up the clinic. She got into the car with David and didn’t look back.
At the station she prevailed upon him to leave her at the ticket office. ‘There’s plenty of time before my train goes,’ she told him, ‘and I know how busy you are this morning.’ She waved gaily as he got back into the car and the moment he had gone put her case in the left luggage office and went to find a taxi. It took quite some time to get to Strand on the Green, but it didn’t matter; the clinic would have finished and Oliver would be home by now. Celine paid off the taxi and rang the door bell.
Pym’s welcoming smile made it evident t
hat they didn’t know she was going home. He invited her in, but when she asked to see Oliver he shook his head. ‘The doctor rang not ten minutes ago,’ he told her. ‘He’s off to Birmingham, miss—didn’t say when he’d be back. Would you like to leave a message, though I daresay he’ll be in touch with you. In rather a hurry, I gather.’
She had been so sure of seeing him that she didn’t quite believe it. She looked at Pym from eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘No, it doesn’t matter, Pym,’ she said incoherently. ‘Sometimes things aren’t meant to happen, are they, however much you want them to.’
He looked at her anxiously. ‘You must sit down, Miss Baylis. I’ll get Mrs Pym to make you a nice cup of tea.’
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Pym. It’s very good of you, but I’ll go.’ She stood up. ‘Don’t tell the doctor I’ve called.’ She quite forgot that he didn’t know about the whole sorry business. ‘We said goodbye this morning—it was just something…it doesn’t matter now.’
Pym was discreet and he liked her. He and Mrs Pym had decided the first time they had set eyes on her that she was the one for the doctor. All he said was: ‘Very well, miss. I’ll call a taxi.’
She was getting into it when she was hailed from the pavement—Mrs Weatherby, with a pretty girl beside her. ‘Hullo there,’ she cried cheerfully. ‘Did you have a heavenly time in Holland? I suppose Oliver’s up to his neck in work again.’ She smiled cosily at Celine. ‘Here’s our daughter Hilary—I told her Oliver was going to marry you and she hopes you’ll have her for a bridesmaid; she’s decided he’s too old for her!’ She laughed and her daughter laughed with her. She was exactly as Oliver had said; very pretty and utterly charming and not a day over fourteen.
Celine made a great effort. ‘We’ll have to get together about that. Now I simply must fly…’
‘Ah, going to meet Oliver, I expect. See you soon, my dear.’
They stood and waved from the pavement and she waved back, quite unable to see them through her tears.
She had dried them by the time they reached the station. She caught the next train, although it stopped all over the place and took hours. It was lovely to be going home, but she was dreading it all the same.
Dusty saw her first as she got out of the village taxi in front of the open door. He shambled out to meet her, barking loudly and knocking things over in his excitement, and then her mother came, and her father. Mercifully there were people staying the night and Aunt Chloe was fully occupied, so Celine was able to go to her father’s study and explain—if her mumbled disjointed account could be called an explanation. She hadn’t made it very clear, but even if they didn’t understand they knew what to do. Her father gave her a glass of his best brandy, her mother went in search of Barney and Angela, gave Aunt Chloe a brief résumé of what was happening and went back to the study. ‘You’ve had a nasty day, darling,’ she declared. ‘You’re going to bed, and Angela’s making you a lovely meal and you’ll have it there. You’re not to worry about a thing, and in the morning we’ll sit down quietly and talk everything over.’
And Celine was glad to do as she was told.
In all the books she had read, the heroine always spent long nights tossing and turning in bed, weeping buckets. Celine expected to do the same, so she was very surprised to wake up very early the next morning, with the vague remembrance of dozing off over her supper. She sat up in bed and looked around her familiar room. Someone had unpacked her things, taken away the supper tray and pulled the curtains together. She got up now and drew them back. It was a perfect morning, still with a faint pearly chill. There were birds singing and the sound of a tractor far off, not at all like Bethnal Green. She closed her eyes on the thought and started to dress. A Liberty cotton which had seen better days but was still nonetheless charming, and her hair brushed out and left as it was, and never mind the make-up. She crept silently through the old house and down to the kitchen where she made tea, hushed Dusty, and then went out into the garden.
She made for the swing; she had always gone there to think about things, to worry, or dream. She sailed gently to and fro, Dusty sitting happily beside her, and looked around her. It had been a splendid summer, she reflected, the garden was at its best and the house glowed warm in the rising sun. ‘It isn’t so long ago that we were here, doing just this,’ she told Dusty, ‘and think of all the things that have happened since then—and oh, Dusty dear, I wish none of them had—at least, I think so, only then I wouldn’t have met Oliver, but if I hadn’t met him I wouldn’t be unhappy now, would I?’
Dusty made a sympathetic snorting noise and then pricked his ears and sat up. ‘The milkman,’ said Celine. ‘He’s early, you can lie down again.’
But Dusty got to his feet as racing round the corner of the house came two Jack Russells and behind them came Oliver.
Celine stopped swinging and he crossed the grass and stood in front of her.
‘I’m told you wanted to see me,’ he said very quietly.
Celine stared up at him; she wasn’t to know that Pym, upset by the tears, had consulted Mrs Pym, who had told him to ring the doctor without delay. ‘Depend upon it,’ she had said, ‘the path of true love never did run smooth.’
She said at last, ‘You must have left London very early.’
‘Two o’clock this morning.’
He looked tired, although he was freshly shaven and he still contrived to be elegant. ‘Well?’ he said, and she knew from the tone of his voice that she would have to answer him.
It was difficult to know where to start. She went on staring, her mouth open, trying to find the words. She was holding the ropes of the swing and Oliver put his hands over hers, and she found that reassuring. All the same, she began at the wrong end: ‘Hilary’s just as you said, very pretty and utterly charming, but she’s about fourteen. I didn’t know that.’
It took him fifteen seconds to work that one out. ‘I’ve been in love with you since we met,’ he told her softly, ‘and I’ve loved you a little more each day. When did you discover that you loved me?’
‘You were sitting on the stairs reading the paper, only I think I’ve loved you all the time too, but I thought you were just being kind, and then I was told about this girl—I didn’t know she was still at school, and I wanted to tell you, but you said not now.’
A tear trickled down one cheek, but he wiped it away with a finger.
‘When I kissed you in Theo’s garden you pulled away from me. Why?’
‘I was so afraid you’d guess…’ She smiled at him, and he lifted her off the swing and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her for quite some time, watched by the three dogs, her mother, who had heard the car and had got up to look out of the bedroom window, and Barney, who liked to begin his days early.
‘They do say,’ said Barney to no one in particular, ‘as how it’s love as makes the world go round, and by golly, it must be fair whizzing.’
But however fast the world was spinning, time was standing still for Celine and Oliver, held in a magic moment they would never forget.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0407-2
MIDSUMMER STAR
Copyright © 1983 by Betty Neels.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks i
ndicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
