Four Roads to Windrush

by Susan Barrie

  Lindsay's eyes became round and questioning.

  "Philip?" she echoed.

  "Yes—he spent all his time here at the hospital. They let him in because he said that you and he were engaged to be married! Oh, don't worry about it, darling," as Lindsay's eyes grew rounder. "But he had to do something because your aunt was abroad and you had no-one near to you of your own—and, in any case, Philip is wonderful!"

  "Yes," Lindsay agreed, slowly, "he is wonderful."

  "He's put a manageress in at the Windrush for the time being, so I don't think you'll find him running away while you need him. And all you've got to do is to feel secure in your friends, and get well again."

  Lindsay lay looking at her for several seconds in silence, and two tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  "I like the sound of that," she said. "Secure in my friends!"

  The weeks slipped away, and Lindsay still lay in her hospital bed. But her bed had been wheeled out on to balcony outside her room, and while the spring days lengthened into summer she lay back against her pillows and realised that she was improving very slowly, even though she had the curious feeling, from time to time, that her legs had gone permanently to sleep.

  Alison came to see her often, and Philip's visits she looked forward to so eagerly that her eagerness amazed her when she thought about it in secret. It was strange that an accident so disastrous to herself should have put her relationship with Philip on such an entirely different footing. She found it impossible to think of him as she had once thought of him as a hard, cold man, with no interest in people, whose principal concern was making money…

  But, unfortunately, Philip could not visit her as often as she liked, because the new manageress at the Windrush had not proved satisfactory, and he had to go back and take over the reins again himself, although each weekend saw him in London, and he was striving to find a reliable manager.

  The weeks, therefore, seemed a little long to Lindsay, with only Alison popping in to see her, although by this time she and Alison were firm friends, and she had even got over that faint and rather curious mistrust of her. Elise paid a flying visit to London and made a point of visiting her before she had to return to Windrush. Lindsay was pleased to see her—she was a pleasant link with the past.

  Then she received a very long letter from Aunt Grace. She was enjoying every moment of her stay in Spain and said that Nina Barrington and her husband had suggested that, when Lindsay was completely recovered from her accident, she might like to visit them. Her aunt went on to say that 'that Philip Summers' had been quite helpful—extraordinarily helpful, considering how difficult they had found him in the past—but perhaps it was his conscience that was pricking him because he had worked Lindsay so hard when he needn't have done.

  The letter was full of gossip and chit-chat and it was only at the end that Aunt Grace seemed to realise that she was writing to a girl helpless in hospital. Then a touch of affection stole in.

  Take care of yourself, my dear, and I couldn't be more sorry than I am that all this has happened to you! By the way, what happened to the Temsen man?—Your affectionate Aunt Grace.

  Lindsay was re-reading this letter one afternoon, and she had just got to the inquiry about the "Temsen man" when she found that he was actually standing on her balcony. The nurse who was with him, although she understood that Miss Carteret was engaged to the tall dark man who had visited her so frequently in the early days of her admittance, was plainly a little overcome by the astonishing good looks of this fresh visitor, whose growing medical reputation was beginning to be widely recognised. And from the way in which he looked at Lindsay, the nurse, who was only in her second year, began to allow the most unreasonably romantic thoughts to whirl through her mind—for had not this Mr. Temsen been in the same car with Miss Carteret on the night that the crash occurred?

  The nurse placed a chair for him and withdrew softly.

  "Lindsay, I had to come and see you." Dane's voice was hoarse. "I wanted to come and see you weeks ago, but apparently you didn't want to see me, and—although I understand that perfectly, I couldn't keep away."

  Lindsay closed her eyes. She felt suddenly as though she was being drawn along by a tide of feeling she was unable to resist. She drew a deep breath and when she opened her eyes she was calm.

  "Oh Dane, I'm sorry you were told that, but I wasn't allowed many visitors at first…"

  "I can understand," he said quietly.

  "But nowadays time hangs a little heavily, and I'm always pleased to see—to see a fresh face…"

  She thought that his lips twisted rather wryly.

  "And I haven't been able to stop seeing your face for weeks. It has haunted me day and night, just as I'm haunted by the thought of what I've done to you!"

  She said, very gently:

  "But that's absurd, Dane. We were both involved in an accident, and you might so easily have been hurt, too. I was so thankful to hear that you weren't."

  He stared at her hands.

  "It's I who should have been the badly hurt one. I wilfully risked your life—"

  "No, Dane—that's a silly way of looking at things." She put out a hand and lightly touched his arm. "Besides, I shall be out of here soon, and then I shall be able to forget all about it."

  He stood up and wandered to the low wall in front of them. He could see another hospital block facing them, and in between some well-cared-for grounds in which convalescent patients were taking the air. He stared at the trim figure of a nurse approaching a wheelchair, to plump up the pillows behind a fragile form; and then, with a curious, abrupt movement, he turned back to Lindsay.

  "You've got over me completely, haven't you?" he said.

  Lindsay didn't pretend to misunderstand him.

  "Perhaps there wasn't very much to get over, Dane. I'm afraid you rather swept me off my feet, and I wasn't accustomed to being swept off my feet."

  He sat down on her bed, well away from her legs, and looked at her earnestly.

  "Lindsay, do you mean to tell me now that even if Id been quite free to ask you to marry me during that fortnight I was at Windrush, you would have refused me? And if you hadn't refused me, do you think you would have regretted it later on? "

  She felt that she had to soften things for him.

  "I would probably have said 'Yes' if you'd asked me to marry you then—but I think I would have regretted it afterwards. Because we're not really a bit suited to each other, Dane."

  "Aren't we?"

  "No."

  "And yet I don't think I shall ever get over being in love with you. I mean, I shall never love anyone else as I loved you."

  And even then it struck her that he spoke in the past tense.

  "Lindsay"—he looked at her even more earnestly—"what's going to happen to you when you leave here? You may be an invalid for some time, and somebody's got to look after you. I'm responsible, and it's my job. I want to look after you—I want you to marry me, Lindsay! Don't you think you can forget how unsuited we are to one another and let's take a chance on it?"

  But her eyes had widened, and a sudden sick fear started to grow inside her.

  "What do you mean—" she asked huskily. "What do you mean when you say I may be an invalid for some time?"

  For an instant he looked away from her, and then when his look returned to her his eyes were smiling with what she was sure was deliberate cheerfulness.

  "Of course you won't But you're not likely to be particularly robust for some time, and you certainly won't be able to rush back to a job. Someone's got to look after you, Lindsay!"

  She smiled at him wanly, her fear subsiding a little.

  "Oh, in that case—I'm sure I'll be all right. And although I think it's terribly sweet of you to want to burden yourself with me, Dane, I can't allow you to undertake such a burden. So please don't ask me again."

  "Why not?"

  "Because the answer will always be the same."

  "You seem to be certain
that I should only look upon you as a burden."

  She smiled at him more naturally.

  "No, I don't really think that, but—Dane, how is Mary Benedict? "

  It was at once obvious to her that the question embarrassed him acutely.

  "Dane," she said softly, "did you talk the whole thing over with her, and did she agree with you that, in the circumstances, there was only one thing you could do, and that was to ask me to marry you—in order, as you've said, that you could look after me? But I shall never marry to be looked after, Dane, and I'm certain Mary is really the right kind of wife for you—and I hope you will marry her!"

  "Lindsay!" His voice was once more husky. "You don't really mean that?"

  "At the risk of wounding you just a little, I'm going to tell you the truth, Dane. I'd be very upset if I thought that I was the reason why you didn't marry her."

  When he had gone and she was left alone again with her thoughts, Lindsay found that she was feeling more depressed than at any time since she had been admitted to hospital. And her depression had nothing to do with Dane's obvious relief when she made it clear that she wished him to marry Sir Adrian's daughter. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had asked if he could bring Mary to see her, and that by agreeing instantly she had finally put an end to all romance between them—it had never, she was certain now, been love.

  No, as she put away Aunt Grace's letter, which had lain on the bed during Dane's visit, she knew that the reason for her depression was the fear which he had put into her mind. How long was she going to remain an invalid?

  She heard the door behind her bed open, and the nurse reappeared. Her voice was quite arch as she exclaimed: "Another gentleman to see you, Miss Carteret!" But Lindsay was looking past her to where Philip was standing looking at her, and her whole being seemed to give a great throb of relief. She waited until the nurse had discreetly withdrawn before she held out a hand to him, and her voice was shaking as she uttered his name: "Oh, Philip!"

  Her lower lip quivered, and she was unable to prevent huge drops gathering in her eyes.

  "Oh, Philip, I'm so pleased to see you!" But Philip was shocked by her welcome.

  "Is anything wrong?" he asked quietly, taking the chair beside the bed. "I was given to understand that you were very much better, but I find you like this! I've -never seen you like it before. Who, or what, has upset you, Lindsay?"

  "No-one." She smiled through her tears. "I'm so pleased to see you."

  "Well, I find that very flattering." He gave a wry smile. "But if my sudden appearance has the effect of causing you to shed tears, perhaps I'm not very good for you."

  "Oh, but you are," she assured him, content to let her hand remain in his. "You're terribly good for me, and I've been wondering when I was going to see you again. This is much earlier, because I wasn't really expecting you until the weekend, and it's in the middle of the week that I sometimes get a bit dull."

  "Who was the other gentleman who came to see you, Lindsay?"

  Her eyes, in which the tears had magically dried, studied his face as if she was not quite certain how to answer him, or whether, perhaps, the answer could be postponed. But he looked grim. She had not seen him like that since the old days at Windrush, and Philip, with that slight hardness about his mouth and that inscrutable expression in his eyes, was strangely forbidding. She took a tighter grasp of his hand without quite realising that she was doing so.

  "It was—Dane!"

  "Temsen?" She saw his mouth tighten still more. "I was afraid so, as soon as I heard that you'd had another visitor— another gentleman visitor. And what right had he to come and see you? I told him you didn't want to see him."

  "And neither did I—not really. But he said he had to see me. He—he's been very upset—"

  "Upset!" Philip interrupted her tersely. "It's no thanks to him that you weren't killed outright! And you tell me he's been upset?" His eyes glinted dangerously. "Your friend Dane Temsen doesn't arouse much sympathy in me, Lindsay. I've always disliked him, but I wish I'd the power to keep him out of this hospital and away from you. What did he want to see you about? "

  She decided to be quite truthful.

  "He asked me to marry him because he felt responsible for— for what had occurred, and because I might—might be going to be an invalid for some time…"

  "Nice of him," Philip commented, suddenly pale. "And what did you say to him, Lindsay?"

  "I refused, of course. I told him that I couldn't marry him under any circumstances."

  "And would you have said that to him before the accident?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did say it to him—on the night of the accident."

  "And that was why he was driving so recklessly?"

  "I think he was a little—upset at the time."

  He removed his cigarette-case from his pocket and started to light a cigarette. She thought that his fingers seemed to fumble over the operation.

  "Lindsay!" He snapped shut his lighter and put it away in his pocket. "Lindsay, since you've told me that you—refused to marry him, you won't be upset if I ask you a question. Did you know that at the time he was paying you a good deal of attention he was more or less engaged to a girl whom all their friends had been expecting him to marry for some time? Did you know that?"

  "Yes, I knew it," she answered very quietly. "I even met the girl."

  "You did?"

  "Yes—on the night of the accident."

  "Poor little Lindsay!" Suddenly his voice was soft and almost tender. He picked up one of her hands again and held it comfortingly between both his own, looking at her with a kind of yearning in his eyes. "Lindsay, I'd have spared you all this if I could, but we all make mistakes, and probably Temsen is no more than a little bit weak, and you proved too great a temptation for him. I don't suppose any man would blame him for that! But his visit this afternoon upset you, didn't it? Why, unless you've got some sort of lingering regard for him, did it upset you?"

  "I haven't any lingering regard for him—" And now it was her voice that was a little raised and incisive. "If he threatened to sweep me off my feet it was probably because I haven't met very many men and he is attractive. But nothing, nothing now, would ever induce me to marry him. And I think the only reason I feel upset is because—"

  "Yes?"

  She suddenly clutched tightly at his hand.

  "Because he suggested to me that I might—might be an invalid for some time! I had the feeling that he thought I might even be a permanent invalid. Oh, Philip, that isn't true, is it?"

  Philip turned pale with anger.

  "Of all the tactless, inhuman fools!" he exclaimed. Then he realised that she was still waiting for reassurance, her eyes large and terrified, her mouth working a little. "No, it isn't true, my—No, Lindsay, it isn't true! As a matter of fact, I was told when I arrived this afternoon that they're going to get you up in a few days, and then it will be just a question of time before strength returns to your legs and you'll be able to walk again. You've got to be patient, but before very long you will be completely well!"

  "Oh!" Lindsay exclaimed, and let out a long, shuddering breath.

  "But," and he suddenly possessed himself of both her hands and held them tightly, "there is one thing I've got to say to you, Lindsay, and whether it will please you or not I don't know. But it's got to be said just the same, and we might as well get everything clear right now. I don't know whether you know it—and yet I think you must—but when you were so very ill and I had to get in to see you constantly, I let it be understood that you and I were engaged to be married. It gave me the right to do all I could for you, and at the time that was all I intended it to do. But now I can see quite clearly that I've got to marry you, Lindsay— or, rather, you've got to marry me!—and as soon as you're released from this hospital, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to marry you, Lindsay!"

  "But—but—" The colour rushed into her cheeks.

  "There aren't any 'buts' about it," he told her
, and although his voice was blunt, it didn't horrify her at all. "I'm determined to see you completely restored to health, Lindsay, and to take care of you in every way I can, and I can only do that if I'm your husband."

  "But—but, why should you?" she got out, the words sounding husky and amazed, her blue eyes intent upon his face.

  He looked at her with completely unrevealing eyes.

  "Why shouldn't I? Even Temsen offered to marry you in order to look after you, didn't he?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "And I'm not Temsen. I don't feel that I must ask you to marry me because I owe you anything—I just say that I'm going to marry you… Once upon a time I believe you disliked me thoroughly, but I'm certain you don't do so now—"

  "I don't, I don't!" she assured him.

  "And I never disliked you, so"—his smile was almost boyish in its sudden amusement—"I can't really see why the thought of our getting married should amaze you so much. You've even told me how much you look forward to seeing me, and I spend the week wondering about you and wishing I could get here before the weekend. So don't you think you can accept it as natural that I should want to look after you, Lindsay? "

  She lowered her eyes, and stared at the sheet.

  "But, all the same—just supposing—just supposing I did remain an invalid—even for some time! I'd be a burden to you."

  "We won't go into that," he told her, "because you'll never become a burden."

  She looked up at him again, then coloured painfully.

  "I could become a tie!"

  "We won't go into that either. At the end of a year well examine our mutual positions, and if by that time you feel an overpowering desire to be free again—well, I'll see to it that you're set free."

  "And that goes for you, too?"

  "Yes; all right."

  Once again that tiny, shuddering sigh escaped her.

  "I can't think why you should bother yourself with me."

  "I'm not bothering myself with you," he answered coolly. "I'm going to marry you!"

  The balcony door opened, and the nurse came in.

  "I'm sorry," she announced, beaming at them both, "but time is up, and my patient really must rest for a while. Too much excitement isn't good for her at this stage."