'I really would feel better if I could at least pay Kitty. She's already helped me so much.'
'Now get to bed, it's late and you must be in pain. Can you manage to hop, or shall I carry you upstairs?'
'I'll manage,' Nell said swiftly, blushing at the idea of him carrying her. 'Kitty found this walking stick somewhere, and I can use that.'
'Good. Then don't put any weight on that foot. I'll come round tomorrow and see how the swelling is.'
*
'Poor little Nell!'
It was Sunday afternoon, and she was alone with Andrew. He and Paul had both appeared at The Firs during the morning. After lunch, when Kitty and Gwyneth had to go to rehearse the new line ready for the engagement the following week, and Paul was summoned to another patient who had fallen from a horse, Andrew said he would stay and keep Nell company.
'The swelling has gone down a lot, it's not very bad,' Nell told him. 'I just won't be able to dance for a while.' Nor go and see whether Amy had tried to meet her, she thought guiltily to herself.
'Then I've a suggestion to make. Whenever I'm not playing at Endersby's, I'll take you to the theatre. We can study as many different acts as possible, get ideas for our own.' She protested, but he brushed aside all her objections. Nell was so tempted by what she regarded as pure pleasure rather than the work he insisted it would be, she soon agreed.
'Good. I'll go home and see what next week's programmes are. I'm not playing tomorrow, so I'll get some tickets.'
'But how on earth shall I manage to walk there, and climb up all the stairs?'
'I have the car, so we won't have to walk far. If you can't manage I'll carry you. And I'll get a box so that you can put your foot on a stool, if that's what Doctor Paul recommends.'
'It's very good of you to take so much trouble.'
'Trouble? Nell, it's a heaven-sent opportunity to get to know you better. Don't you realise it's what I've wanted ever since I caught you that day in the shrubbery?'
*
'You can't expect me to swing that heavy handle?' Kitty said disbelievingly.
'Darling, be sensible! It's the only way to start the motor,' Timothy replied.
'But it's heavy!'
'Not as bad as you imagine. Come on, try it.'
'I have my new dress on.'
'And when you go driving you'll always have good clothes on. You can keep it out of the way.'
Reluctantly Kitty climbed down from the driving seat and took the starting handle in a fastidious grasp.
'Start at the top, push down, and then as it comes up this side pull sharply.' Kitty gave it a tentative push. 'It's too big,' she announced with relief, standing up.
'It's better if it's big – more leverage.'
'Oh, this is impossible! How the devil can you expect me to understand these mechanic's expressions!' Kitty was examining her hands in horror. 'Just look what you've made me do! There's a smear of oil on my glove, and it will get on my other clothes!'
Timothy, bored, grasped the starting handle and with a swift turn brought the little Austin Seven to life. It purred with satisfaction. Kitty beamed at Timothy and settled herself once more behind the wheel.
'You'll have to learn one day,' Timothy said as he climbed in beside her.
'Pooh! I'll find someone to do it for me.'
'Even if you are stranded on a lonely country road, at night, in the rain, with no one in sight?' he asked sceptically.
'Why on earth should I ever be on some miserable deserted road?'
'You do plan to travel the country appearing at theatres,' he reminded her.
'Yes, but Gwyneth and Nell will always be with me. I'm sure they'll understand about leverage, and be happy to do it. After all, I shall be providing the motor.'
'Nell has a sprained ankle at the moment,' he reminded her, 'and she always looks too fragile to me even to be dancing.'
Kitty glared at him. 'It's always Nell! Paul's besotted with her, and Andrew's like a puppy with a bone, planning all these frightfully stupid theatre trips! As if she needs to watch everyone else when we can do it perfectly well already!'
He shrugged. 'Don't be so ridiculous, Kitty. It's quite possible you might be on your own. What then?' he persisted.
'There'll always be someone,' she replied airily. 'Now show me what to do next, darling Timothy. I can't wait to drive it properly.'
An hour later she steered, somewhat uncertainly, back through the gateway of The Firs.
'There! Thanks, darling, you can hop down now. I'll go out on my own for a few minutes. I know what to do.'
'No.'
'What do you mean?'
Timothy ran his hands through his already ruffled hair and sighed. 'You aren't safe yet, darling. It was providence that you missed the tram in the Hagley Road, and you have to give way to horses. You almost ran down that baker's trap.'
'Stupid man! Anyway, I paid him for the damned loaves he dropped off when he swerved so idiotically. He should have stacked them more carefully.'
'And next time it might be a child. Do you imagine you'll be able to buy off the parents?'
'Some of them might be glad to get rid of a few extra mouths!' she said bitterly, her face white, but after a moment she shrugged and opened the door. 'Come and have a cocktail.'
'Why did you want me to teach you?' Timothy asked as he followed her into the house.
'You're the only one with the patience to put up with me,' she admitted, grinning, and turned to kiss him lightly on the cheek. 'Dear Timothy! What would I do without you?'
*
Nell was giggling unrestrainedly when finally she was settled in one of the boxes at the Theatre Royal.
'Andrew, the fuss! I might have been a princess!'
'You are my princess,' he replied lightly. 'Now you're sure you have enough cushions under that leg? Paul would slaughter me if I damaged it, and Gwyneth has threatened all sorts of revenge if I delay your recovery. She says no one else can do the special routine with her.'
'Hush, it's starting!'
For the next hour she sat entranced, watching the stage. Andrew divided his attention between the performers and Nell. In the six months or so since he had caught her in the shrubbery she had changed in so many ways. She wasn't so thin, now that she had proper food, but she still had that slender, waif-like beauty which caught at the heart. Her smile was enchanting, shy and fleeting, yet brilliant in its quality. Too often, though, she seemed absorbed in her own reflections, withdrawn and sad. It was as if she was in another world.
In other ways, she had blossomed. The small defiance she had shown when he had captured her had, he suspected, been uncharacteristic and sparked by the terror consuming her, as well as despair at losing that deplorable shawl. Now she had much more confidence and often voiced her own opinions strongly, particularly if they were to do with dancing. She seemed to have an instinctive flair for what was the best, and privately Andrew considered that in time she could be even better than Gwyneth.
At the interval she turned shining eyes towards him. 'That was wonderful! But surely we could never hope to be as good!'
'We will be. You are already better than those dancers,' he reassured her. 'They just look good because they have elaborate costumes – lots of glitter and feathers. In theatre, Nell, it's the outward appearance that's most important. Provided, that is, the performers are averagely competent.'
'That doesn't apply to your playing,' she said slowly.
'Not so much, perhaps. But it still sounds better if the player shows confidence. A superb musician who hesitates can sound worse than someone who plays on and covers up mistakes. Dancing in a troupe it's enough to keep together and look good. We'll have to be a little better in our new act, but with plenty of practice we will be.'
At the end he insisted on carrying her out to his car, parked nearby. She was more conscious of the stares of other theatre-goers than she had been on their arrival. Then it had been amusing to have the theatre management carving a path throu
gh the crowds, ushering her in as if she were an honoured guest. Now, making their way to Andrew's car and the intimacy of the drive home, she felt uneasy clasped tightly in his arms. His face was so close to her own she could feel his breath on her cheek.
She shivered suddenly and his arms tightened about her.
'Cold?'
'A little, yes.'
'It could be frosty tonight. Here we are. Can you stand while I unlock the door?'
'I'm able to hop, or walk with a stick,' she reminded him with a nervous laugh.
'But how inelegant! Not the right way a dancer should be seen. There, get in. We'll soon be warm.'
He helped her in, solicitously tucked the rugs about her, and climbed into the driver's seat. For a moment he sat looking at her in the light of the street lamp, and then gave a slight shrug and set off for Edgbaston.
Meggy was waiting for them in the hall, and pursed her lips when Andrew carried Nell in.
'Are the others back yet?' he asked cheerfully as he set her gently on her feet.
'No, Master Andrew, you know perfectly well they won't be home till near midnight. Even later if Miss Kitty bamboozles Betts into letting her drive that pesky motor. She ain't fit to be let loose with such a contraption. Now, Miss Nell, up to bed with you, you look worn out.'
'I am tired,' Nell admitted.
'It was too much for you, an evening at the theatre just a couple of days after you twisted your ankle. I'll help you up the stairs. There's no call for you to stay,' she added curtly, and behind her back Andrew grimaced.
'Dear Meggy! Cerberus in person. I'll see you tomorrow, Nell, when I've arranged for more tickets.'
*
'I will never be able to do it!' Gwyneth sighed. 'There are so many things to remember all at once!'
'It will get better,' Timothy reassured her. They were sitting in the Austin Seven, at an isolated spot at the top of the Lickey Hills. Gwyneth, with many false starts and mistakes, had driven Kitty's new car from Edgbaston.
'Kitty mastered it at once,' she said, a trace of envy in her voice. 'She's already driving by herself. I don't seem to have the least idea. I'd be terrified to be left on my own, and I make such terrible noises I'm afraid I'm wrecking the car.'
'Of course you aren't. But I'll drive now.'
'Thanks. Heavens, I'm stiff!' she exclaimed as they changed seats. 'It's much harder work than dancing for several hours.'
'It's just because you aren't relaxed. Look, we're quite near my father's house. Let's go there and have something to eat.'
'But – won't he mind?' Gwyneth asked.
'He won't be there. It's really no more than a large farmhouse, which he inherited from a distant cousin who was killed in the war a few years ago. He has a farm manager who lives in part of it, and his wife acts as housekeeper for my father, who uses the house just for flying visits to Birmingham. It's where I stay when I come up here.'
'I don't think I ought.'
'Gwyneth, it's nearly time for lunch. We couldn't drive back to Edgbaston quickly, but after you've relaxed you might feel able to try driving again.'
'Will I ever learn to drive?'
'Of course you will. It's like learning to ride. The second time you get on a horse it feels so much more familiar you can concentrate better on other things.'
Gwyneth nodded. 'Yes, that's true. We had an old pony at home and I was terrified the first time my brothers made me sit on him. Then I wondered why it had seemed so frightening.'
'Driving is the same. Soon you'll be even better than Kitty. She's too impatient to be really good.'
'She wasn't very happy to lend me her car.'
'She soon agreed when I promised to fetch you home from Dudley next week. Anyway, she has both Paul and Andrew to keep her company today.'
'Yes,' Gwyneth said in a small voice. She couldn't help but see how Paul looked at Nell, the concern and tenderness in his eyes as he checked her sprained ankle. Fiercely she commanded herself to forget her dreams. Paul was always pleasant, as he was to everyone, but he barely noticed she was there. She hadn't the slightest hope of attracting his attention while Nell was around. She doubted he would notice her if in some miraculous way Nell were out of reach.
The first tug of attraction Gwyneth had felt on seeing him had, if anything, intensified as she came to know him better. He was handsome, of course. That had been the first thing to strike her. From the stories Kitty and Andrew told, he had been as crazy as they were when he was young. Now he was calm, thoughtful, considerate, and an exceptionally dedicated doctor, caring intensely for all his patients whether they were rich aristocrats or filthy paupers.
She smiled wryly to herself. He was so very different from her father. She had inherited her own fiery temper from him, although her father held grudges, and if anyone displeased him, was stern and unforgiving. He professed to care deeply for the welfare of his flock, but Gwyneth had over the years become cynical. He was more concerned with whether they obeyed his injunctions than whether they sinned. Real sinners, those who disobeyed him, were turned away condemned. She shook herself slightly and tried to concentrate on Timothy's exposition. It looked so easy when he did it.
'Here we are,' he said shortly, and turned off the narrow lane they had been following onto an even narrower farm track. Over the brow of a small hill she could see a tall, twisted chimney, and as they crested the rise she gasped in delight.
'It's beautiful! It's bigger than a farm, surely?'
'It's always been called Manor Farm, I suppose it was once a manor house, which is really no more than a large farm. It dates back to Tudor times, though most of it was rebuilt about a hundred and fifty years ago.'
It lay in a shallow bowl, with no other houses in sight. The main part of the house was long and low, white painted and facing south, but behind there was a straggling wing of higgledly-piggledy roofs, above uneven walls of great black beams and red bricks in a variety of herringbone patterns. Scattered nearby were stables and farm buildings, barns and cowsheds, and a wide crescent of trees just bursting into leaf sheltered the entire farmstead from northerly winds.
'Welcome home,' Timothy said softly as he drew to a halt in front of the house.
He was proud of the house, Gwyneth realised. After introducing her to Mrs Sankey, his housekeeper, who promised a meal ready in half an hour, he took her to inspect the main rooms.
'It was my Great-great-great grandfather who did most of the building. He'd married the owner's daughter, a second marriage for him when he was in his forties, and he was by all accounts a doting husband. She wanted the latest fashions, and was indulged. Some of the rooms are far too grand for what is, after all, no more than a farmhouse, but she wanted to pretend she had a miniature Stoneleigh Abbey. See how the rooms in this part all lead into one another, like a suite of state banqueting halls!'
'The ceilings are incredible!' Gwyneth gasped, gazing up at them 'I love that moulding and the paintings.'
'Even the cherubs?' Timothy asked mischievously. 'My cousin's wife was a real prim Victorian, she tried to make him paint over them, said they weren't decent. Fortunately he refused to let her do it, and she had to be content with slinging a false ceiling of plain material underneath to hide them from the affronted gaze of her guests.'
Gwyneth laughed. 'It would have been wicked to have ruined them,' she agreed. 'Thank goodness we have a more sensible attitude now.'
'I'm glad you agree. I've asked Mrs Sankey to set lunch in my own sitting room. It's far too formal in the big dining room Father uses when he comes here.'
He took her arm and led the way upstairs to a suite of rooms at one end of the front wing. A fire had been hastily lit, and Mrs Sankey was laying a small circular table by the window.
'Soon be ready, Master Timothy,' she said cheerfully. 'Lucky we had a big Sunday roast today, plenty for all of us. And rhubarb pie to follow, the first picking. With fresh cream. Shall I bring some wine?'
'Yes please, champagne, I think.'
'Enjoy your dinner,' she said cheerfully as she left the room.
'She's nice,' Gwyneth commented.
'A little too inclined to think I'm still a ten-year-old up to mischief!' Timothy replied with a grin, opening the champagne and filling the glasses. 'To you, Gwyneth, and your success!'
The meal was delicious, but substantial farmhouse fare, and Gwyneth had to be coaxed into eating the big helpings of pie Mrs Sankey brought.
'She'd be offended, and it really isn't heavy,' Timothy urged. 'Have the last of the champagne with it.'
She seemed to have drunk a great deal, Gwyneth thought hazily as she lifted the glass. Concentrating on driving, then the food and wine, much more of both than she was accustomed to, had made her sleepy, and when Timothy suggested they moved to sit on a deep settee beside the fire she was happy to agree.
'I'll build up the fire, it's getting cold outside,' he said, and Gwyneth nodded.
When she woke it was dark, the room was lit only by firelight, and Timothy's arm was around her shoulder.
'A real sleeping beauty,' he murmured, and bent to kiss her on the lips.
Gwyneth, still muzzy, didn't move. Timothy pulled her closer, and she blinked and looked round.
'It's dark.'
'It is. You slept for ages, you must have been very tired. It's too dark to drive home. We'll have to stay here tonight. Fortunately my bed is a big one.'
For a moment she didn't understand. 'But there must be several spare bedrooms,' she began, and then struggled to sit up, trying to push him away. 'Timothy!'
'Timothy!' he imitated her. 'Darling, don't be coy. We can't let this opportunity slip, can we?'
'I'm not going to share your bed!' she declared, by now fully awake. 'And it's perfectly possible to drive in the dark, there are lights on the car. You showed them to me. How else could we get home from the theatres?'
'Gwyneth, my lovely girl, it's useless, and you know it. I won't be ungenerous.'
The Glowing Hours Page 16
