‘I don’t – I don’t want to see him, not now or later,’ Bridget said, her voice low, but firm. ‘I just don’t want to see him.’
Bobby hitched her chair closer to Josh, and linked an arm through his, and winked at him. But he was looking at Bridget and made no response.
‘Don’t be nasty to him, Bridget!’ Bobby said. ‘He didn’t mean to get you into hot water – put it down to your lovely eyes. He just wanted his Bridget, I suppose.’
‘Stop it, Bobby!’ Bridget said violently. ‘I tell you I never want to talk to him again. I’ve had enough, do you understand? Enough.’
Bobby frowned sharply. ‘Oh, come off it, Bridget. No need for all the dramatics. So you got caught necking! So what? The old girl hasn’t fired you, has she?’
‘No – but that’s got nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. I’m – I’m finished, that’s all. Finished,’ and she felt a wave of relief wash over her as she said it.
‘Give the poor old devil a chance, Bridget!’ Bobby said. ‘Look, he just wants to apologise, that’s all. It’s not fair not to let him, is it? Listen, Bridie’ – she leaned over the table – ‘we’ve all got nights off next weekend – and Ken and Clive and Josh are off too – I’ve already arranged it, haven’t I Josh? We’re going down to my people’s place for the weekend – a real breath of clean air and peace, down in the country. And I just asked David, and he says he’ll come, as long as you do. Now, please, Bridie – don’t spoil things for everyone – it’s all fixed, eh, Josh? We’ll have a ball, and a real rest, and it’ll be fun. Now don’t be difficult Bridie – nothing to get difficult about. Come down with us, and give old David another chance.’
Bridget looked up at her, at her wheedling face, and then at Josh, still sitting silently across the table, and felt all her newfound resolve crumbling in her, as it always did when she was faced with Bobby’s charm.
‘I don’t want to, Bobby,’ she said with a sort of desperation – and knew as she said it that it was no use. ‘I’d rather not, truly.’
And then Josh leaned forwards, and smiled at her. ‘Listen, Tiddler, Bobby has got a point, you know. Even if you really are going to give David the push, you ought to tell him so. You can’t just – disappear. Not in a place like this. If you’re going to do it, do it clean. Come down for the weekend with us. And then start from scratch.’
Bridget looked from face to face, and then closed her eyes in sudden weariness. ‘All right. I’ll come. But that’s it. Never again after that. I’ve had enough.’
‘Good girl,’ Josh said softly, and then with a quick glance at Bobby closed his mouth firmly. And Bobby grinned triumphantly and said cheerfully, ‘You’ll change your mind, love. You see if you don’t. David’s a nice old thing, really – just gets a bit wild sometimes. You’ll change your mind.’
And Bridget took herself off to bed, leaving Josh and Bobby in the coffee shop, her last sight of them sitting close together making her grateful Bobby had come in time to prevent her making a complete fool of herself. For she was sure, seeing them together, that they were meant to be together, that her own feeling for Josh must never be allowed to show itself. Josh and Bobby belonged together, and there was nothing Bridget could do about it.
Chapter 9
She managed to avoid seeing David at all for the rest of that week. He had more sense than to come to her ward at night, keeping well out of Night Sister’s way, and Bridget made sure she avoided all the places where he might be during the day, refusing to join the others for morning coffee in the coffee shop, going straight to her room and bed as soon as she came off duty. Bobby and Liz and Judith, with a rare tact, said nothing to her about what had happened, only chattering of their plans for the Christmas weekend they were to spend at Bobby’s home.
There was one bad moment for Bridget, at supper one morning when, listening to the others, she discovered that the weekend was not to be spent, as she assumed, in the company of Bobby’s parents. They were away on a winter cruise, and when Bridget heard this, she said baldly that she wasn’t going.
But Bobby was angered by her demurs. ‘For Christ’s sake, Bridget, what’s the matter with you? You aren’t going on a dirty weekend or anything! There’s to be eight of us – eight of us! No one’s asking you to do anything you shouldn’t! We’ve a big place – and everyone’s got a room of his and her own! I’m not running a – a bawdy house, you know!’ and she looked so indignant at the implied insult Bridget had offered her that Bridget perforce gave in.
‘Anyway, it’s the last time,’ she told herself firmly, as she packed a case for the weekend. ‘If Bobby Liz and Judith decide to do without me, that’s too bad. After this weekend, I’m on my own. I’ll do what I want to do when I want to do it, and that’s that. I will control my own life – after this weekend.’
It was a lovely house. Bridget had always known that Bobby’s parents were rich, but she had not expected anything quite as beautiful as the country house in front of which the two cars drew up after the two-hour drive from London. It had been a silent journey for Bridget, in David’s company for the first time since the episode in the ward. She and Bobby and David had travelled down in Josh’s car, while the others came in Ken’s, and she had sat in stony silence next to David all the way. He, after one look at her face, had made no attempt to speak to her or touch her, and she was grateful for this, at least.
The house was an old one, with rambling corridors, unexpected steps up and down in odd corners, and big, comfortably furnished rooms. As Bobby had promised, each of them had a room of their own, Bridget being allotted Bobby’s old nursery, while the men were accommodated in the four maids’ bedrooms at the top of the house.
‘The folks only have a housekeeper these days,’ Bobby said gaily, as she showed them all round. ‘And a couple of dailies from the town. But they’re all on holiday too, so we’ll have to fend for ourselves. More fun, anyway. Can you cook, Josh?’
‘Like an angel,’ he assured her, cheerfully. ‘I’m a dab hand with a boiled egg, I promise you!’
‘Some Christmas dinner that’ll be!’ Bobby jeered. ‘I’ve ordered a flipping great turkey from the farm – so someone’ll have to cook it – ’
‘I can cook,’ Ken said unexpectedly, ‘and with Liz to peel the vegetables, you’ll get a meal fit for a king,’ and he kissed Liz resoundingly. ‘She’ll have to learn sooner or later – if she’s going to marry me, what say you, Liz?’ and Liz laughed and blushed a little and looked up at him adoringly.
And even now that they were all at the house, Bridget managed to keep out of David’s way. They unpacked their clothes, and all went down to the local pub for a drink, filling the small country bar with noise and laughter, so that the regulars looked across at them with indulgent grins, and joined in the teasing of Liz and Ken, neither of whom minded the laughter a bit. Only Bridget, sitting as far away from David as she could, and David himself, were quiet. But Bridget could not help noticing that David was, as usual, drinking a great deal more than was good for him, while she sat with the same untouched drink for the whole evening.
When the pub closed, the eight of them went singing back through the dark wintry lanes, and Bridget, the only one not merry from the effects of the drinks they had had, listened to them and watched them with a sort of cool surprise.
‘I can’t think what it was I saw in them all,’ she told herself wonderingly. ‘Ken and Liz – they’re nice. I could have been Liz’s friend anyway, and she wouldn’t have demanded so much from me. But Bobby and Judith – they – I don’t even like them – ’
She looked across at Bobby as they arrived at the house, dropping coats and gloves in a disorderly pile in the big hall, collapsing laughing and shouting in the big armchairs in the drawing room. Bobby, her fair face flushed with excitement and drink, sprawled across a somehow quiet Josh, a Josh who seemed to Bridget to have only a surface gaiety tonight, lacking the sparkle and warmth that he usually had, seeming to force his jokes and laughter. She
looked at Bobby, and wondered at herself.
The fascination that had held Bridget so firmly for this past year seemed to disappear suddenly, to melt like snow in a morning’s bright sunshine. She was noisy, she was gay – but she was shallow, Bridget told herself. She gives nothing but a spurious friendship, but she takes everything everyone has to offer. And with a flash of insight, Bridget realised suddenly that Bobby was essentially a very lonely person, even lonelier than Bridget herself. For Bridget at least realised that she was lonely, that she needed friendship. Bobby doesn’t know, Bridget told herself. She doesn’t know a thing about herself.
With a sigh, Bridget left the others to wander off in search of the kitchen. She needed coffee, and so did the others, even if they didn’t realise it. She found the kitchen at the back of the house, and rooted in cupboards and drawers for the equipment to make black coffee for them all. She took her time, in no hurry to return to the others, and when the kettle boiled, poured the steaming water over the coffee grounds, and filled cups on a tray.
It wasn’t until she had made her careful way, with her loaded tray, back to the drawing-room, that she realised that silence had descended on the big house. She put the tray down on a low table near the door and straightened up to peer into the dimly lit room.
Only one light was burning, a small table-lamp, and the only other source of light was from the logs burning with uneasily flickering flames in the wide, brick fireplace. For a moment, she thought the room was empty, and told herself ruefully, ‘I’ve made all that coffee for nothing,’ not stopping to wonder why the others had gone. And, then as she turned to pick up her own cup, a movement in the shadows brought her whirling round.
David was sitting sprawled in an armchair by the fire, his head slumped deep into his shoulders, his brooding eyes staring out at her from his silent face. She looked at him for a moment, and then turned away, meaning to go to bed.
But he stood up, and came round in front of her, barring her way to the door.
‘I want to talk to you,’ he said, and his voice was thick.
‘I’m afraid I don’t want to talk to you, David,’ Bridget’s own calmness almost surprised her. ‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘Oh, yes, there is,’ he said, and came closer, so that she could smell the whisky on his breath. Uncertainly, she stepped back, and said again, with rather less conviction, ‘I don’t want to talk to you, David. Not now, or ever.’
‘What’sa matter with you, for Christ’s sake? What you coming the prude for all of a sudden?’ He sounded angry, his voice thick and blurred. ‘A year you’ve been going around with me – a year! And now all of a sudden, you don’t want to know! So there was a row at the hospital – !’ His voice changed suddenly, became placatory. ‘Look, I’m sorry about that, I was drunk, and I don’t deny it, and I got you into a row, and you covered up for me, and I’m damned grateful. I’m ready to apologise – really I am – no need to get all chilly and nasty, is there?’ and he put his hands out to grasp her arms.
She shrank back from him, now frankly loathing the thought of his touch, no longer able to merely tolerate him.
‘Keep away from me! I tell you I don’t want to talk to you. The only reason I agreed to come here this weekend was so that I could finish all this. I don’t want to talk to you now or ever. You’ve apologised. All right. I accept your apology, and all I want from now is to be left alone – just to be left alone – ’
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he said, angry again. ‘Why the prudery all of a sudden? You came down here for the same reason the rest of us did – and don’t go getting girlish and pretending otherwise – I don’t fall for that sort of guff, do you hear? All right. I behaved badly, and I said I was sorry, and I am, if it got you into trouble, so let’s forget it now, and have some fun – come on – ’ and he lurched towards her, so that she had to back away from him if she was to avoid him.
He was really furious now, his eyes blazing in his white face, and as he forced her back into the hall beyond the big drawing-room doors, she felt real fear bubbling up inside her.
‘Keep away from me – keep away from me!’ she said, her voice cracking a little, her eyes wide with terror. ‘Don’t touch me – don’t – ’
But he was too quick for her, and his arms, the arms whose strength she had fought in the past, were round her, and his whisky-reeking breath hot on her face. She squirmed, twisting her head away from his face, but he put a steely hand under her chin and forced her head back, his own face coming closer. She did the only thing she could do – turned her head sharply and bit his hand hard, so that he yelped with the pain, and in a sudden rage, pulled his arm back and hit her, so that her face stung, and her head whipped back on her neck with a sharp crack that made her whole body hurt.
‘You little bitch!’ he said, and his voice was now without the blur of drink. ‘You bitch! Stringing me along like some – if you think you’re getting away with that, you’re mistaken – ’ and once again he made a grab for her, this time pulling at her thin dress so that it ripped right away from her shoulder.
She struggled, heard her own voice shouting, heard herself almost screaming with fear, and then, suddenly, there was a clatter of feet on the stairs, a rush of light as someone put on a switch upstairs, and she felt, rather than saw, someone pull David away from her.
‘What in God’s name are you doing, you lunatic!’ It was Josh. Josh, in a dressing-gown pulled untidily round him, his usually neat hear ruffled above his wide face. He was holding on to David from behind, both arms held tightly, while David tried to pull away from him.
‘You keep out of this, Simpson!’ David shouted, managing to get out of Josh’s firm grip, to turn and glare at him. ‘This is none of your bloody business!’
‘What’s going on down there?’ Bobby’s voice came coolly from the head of the stairs, and Bridget looked up to see her standing there, a thin dressing-gown pulled negligently round her, her bare legs under its shortness making it obvious she was wearing nothing else.
David looked up at her, and laughed loudly, without humour. ‘What’s going on? What’s going on? Your friend here has decided she doesn’t like the idea of this weekend after all – changed her mind. She knows bloody well why we’re here, and now she doesn’t want to play. And your boy-friend has decided to muscle in on what doesn’t concern him – that’s what’s happening – ’
‘It does concern me,’ Josh said, his voice very even.
‘A private argument becomes public property when you can hear it for miles around – and if – if Bridget didn’t need help, she wouldn’t have screamed like that.’
Bridget was leaning against the staircase now, clutching at her torn dress, still shaking with fright as she stared at the two angry men, and as the other four, hearing the row, appeared at the top of the stairs, she shrank even closer to the stairs. Bad enough Josh had to hear what David was saying, without everyone else being an audience. But David had no such qualms. He was shouting again.
‘Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious, Simpson! You’ve got what you want, haven’t you? You came down here for the same reason I did – you’ve got a willing girl, so never mind anyone else, is that it? It’s all right for you to have a toss, but hard luck on anyone else with a girl that isn’t quite so accommodating! After the last year, believe me, I’ve got every right to get mad – she’s no more than a – ’
‘Watch it, Nestor – ’ Josh cut in sharply before David could finish his sentence. ‘You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying – ’
‘I know what I’m saying all right, believe me I do. She’s been playing me for a complete idiot, and she isn’t going to get away with it!’
‘Listen, you damned idiot!’ Josh shouted at him. ‘Drunk you may be, but it doesn’t mean you can get away with anything you want to! Be your age, man!’
‘Oh, Josh, for Heaven’s sake!’ Bobby came down the stairs, her face creased with irritation. ‘Leave them alone. Wha
t’s it got to do with us, for God’s sake? Bridget’s a big girl – she can look after herself. Come back upstairs, and leave them to sort out their own arguments.’
‘Yes, why don’t you?’ David said, sneering. ‘Your girl’s all ready and waiting for you. Why not leave me to sort out mine?’
And now Bridget managed to move. ‘There’s nothing to sort out,’ she said dully. ‘I’m sorry, Bobby. Sorry for the noise. I’ll leave now. I’m going back to London,’ and she moved towards the stairs, grateful for the way Josh moved forwards to cover her from David as she did so.
But David made no move to touch her, this time. ‘You go,’ he said shortly. ‘You go. I wouldn’t want you if you were the last female going, believe me. You go running back to London and find another mug to play your pretty games with,’ and he pushed past Josh and went back to the drawing-room to pour himself another drink at the bar in the corner.
Bridget dragged herself up the stairs, past Liz and Judith, both standing with Clive and Ken, staring at her. Bobby stood back as she passed her, and said shortly, ‘Well, I hope you’re satisfied. You’ve ruined everyone’s weekend, you with all your fuss.’
And now Bridget, almost for the first time in her life, lost her temper.
‘I didn’t want to come – you know I didn’t!’ she said, blazing at Bobby. ‘When I heard your parents were not going to be here, I said I didn’t want to come, and you said it was all right! All right! You – you’re as bad as he is, do you know that? You’ve got the morals of – of a tom-cat, and I was a fool not to see it sooner! You sleep around if you want to – that’s your business! But don’t try to make me do the same! I’m going back to London, and I never want to speak to you again – ’ and she pulled away, and ran up the stairs towards her room.
The Lonely One Page 10
