by Betty Neels
Her heart fluttered and bumped around under the lovely dress, but she answered him with composure. ‘That’s nice of you, but I usually drive down, then I can get back.’
‘I’ll drive you back too.’
‘But you said one night.’
‘Don’t split hairs, Amelia. Another day won’t upset my practice too much—I’ve a partner, you know. A change will do you good, you mustn’t be allowed to pine for Tom. I daresay he’ll come back for you and sweep you off to wherever it is he is and you’ll be happy ever after. Never give up hope—I don’t.’
She almost wailed at him: ‘But you don’t have to!’
His smile was gently mocking. ‘But you don’t know anything about me, do you, Amelia? You don’t know when I’m serious and when I’m joking, do you? For all you know I may be hiding a broken heart. After all, I’m thirty-six, by rights I should be married with a flourishing family.’
Amelia looked at him with sudden apprehension. ‘And are you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Hiding a broken heart, I mean.’
Gideon handed her his cup for more coffee. ‘Not quite broken, but badly bruised.’
She poured the coffee and refilled her own cup. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said gently, and then wished she hadn’t when he said cheerfully, ‘Oh, she’ll be back.’
So it was the redhaired girl, old Boucher’s daughter. ‘She’s only gone for a couple of weeks, Barbara told me.’
His voice was bland although his eyes were gleaming. ‘Surely we know each other well enough to use names?’ he asked.
‘Of course—sorry. It’s Fiona, isn’t it? She’s the daughter of an old friend of Father’s. I don’t see her very often, only if we happen to be at the same party.’
‘And do you have time to go to parties, Amelia?’
She shook her head, glad that the conversation was getting back to general topics again. ‘No, not often. Christmas, of course, and weddings and christenings, and so on.’
‘And New Year?’
‘Oh, I’ve got an extra day for that because I worked over Christmas; I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Well, it seems a pity to waste the pretty dress on a mere dinner—shall we go and dance somewhere?’
‘Oh, yes, please. But if you don’t mind, not for too long, I’m on duty in the morning and there’s one of Mr Thomley-Jones’ lists.’
‘I promise to get you back at a reasonable hour.’ He smiled at her, and list or no list, Amelia wouldn’t have minded if he had suggested that they danced until morning.
She crawled into bed at two o’clock, her tired head full of the delights of the evening. They had danced endlessly, had supper about midnight and danced again. She remembered that once or twice she had said without conviction that she really would have to go back to the hospital, but somehow neither of them took any notice. It was while they were dreamily waltzing on the crowded floor that Gideon asked: ‘What is the first case in the morning?’
‘A cholystectomy with complications.’
‘In that case I’ll take you back—a few hours’ sleep will get you into shape for Mr Thomley-Jones’ uncertain temper.’
And he hadn’t wasted time. She had been whisked back and deposited at the door of the nurses’ home, and when she had thanked him he had spoilt it all by remarking casually that he had enjoyed their evening too and how lucky that he had come upon her, otherwise he might have been condemned to a solitary evening. Amelia hadn’t been able to think of a crushing answer to that, she had been too tired. ‘But I shan’t go home with him,’ she promised herself in a pettish voice as she closed her eyes.
Contrary to her gloomy forebodings, when she got up the next morning, the list went without a hitch, although she had no time at all to sort out her own muddled thoughts. The previous evening had been enjoyable and at the same time most unsatisfactory. And she had no time when she went off duty to give her feelings the attention she would wish; it wasn’t a big dinner party, but she knew everyone there. The evening passed pleasantly, although she had to admit to herself afterwards that compared with the previous one, it had been dull. ‘And that’s what you get for falling in love with someone like Gideon,’ she admonished herself as she prepared for bed.
She wore one of her new dresses to the drinks party. Aunt Delia was giving it and although she looked such a mild unassuming person she had strong ideas about how people should dress for parties. So Amelia put on a pleated crêpe-de-chine dress in a becoming shade of claret, wound her hair into a chignon into which she stuck two jewelled combs, made up her face with extra care, sprayed herself with l’Air du Temps and teetered downstairs on a pair of ridiculous, high-heeled satin sandals which had cost her the earth. It was well worth it, though, for Aunt Delia, in grey lace and diamonds, gave the outfit her instant approval. ‘You have a splendid dress sense, my dear,’ she exclaimed, ‘such a pretty girl too.’ She looked pleased with herself and Amelia wondered idly what she had been up to, and then forgot it as she joined the other guests.
Unlike Barbara, Aunt Delia, when she gave a party, provided excellent drink and super food. She disliked what she termed modern drinks; granted, the men were allowed whisky, otherwise there was sherry, gin and tonic and a variety of soft drinks. But the sherry was of the finest and so was the whisky, and the dishes of tiny sausage rolls, smoked salmon and tiny biscuits carefully topped with caviare were invariably emptied and the bowls of walnuts and cream cheese, stuffed dates and olives were emptied as fast as they were filled. Amelia was standing, her hand hovering over some appetising prunes stuffed with ginger, when Gideon’s quiet voice sent her spinning round.
‘Your aunt’s parties are definitely not to be missed.’
‘How did you get here?’ Amelia’s breath was a little short.
‘I was invited.’
‘But you don’t know anyone...’
‘Your aunt was so kind as to ask me to come along—we met at Barbara’s.’
‘Oh, yes, of course—how stupid of me.’
She stood staring at him, trying to think of something offhand to say, and it was a relief when Aunt Delia joined them.
‘That’s right, my dears, do try those prunes—my cook thought them up, but I’m not sure if people will take to them.’ She beamed at them. ‘So nice that you both know each other.’
‘Why should it be nice?’ demanded Amelia when her aunt had gone, and wished instantly that she hadn’t said it.
‘I expect she thought that I might have been lonely,’ Gideon said silkily.
‘Bunkum!’ She ate a prune.
His eyes widened with laughter. ‘If you say so. Can I get you another drink?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve had two sherries already.’
‘Very abstemious, and unnecessary too, as you won’t be driving.’
‘I’m not going this evening.’ Amelia ate another prune and thought how very nice Gideon looked in his black tie.
‘Well, it struck me that it might be a good idea to drive down after this—we can dine on the way and be at your home soon after eleven, probably sooner.’
‘I’m driving myself down tomorrow.’
‘Oh, dear—your father’s expecting you this evening; he took it for granted that you would come with me.’ Gideon ate a prune thoughtfully. ‘Afraid of my driving, Amelia?’
‘Of course not. You’re an excellent driver and you know it, you’ve no need to fish for compliments.’ She looked around her, anxious to end the conversation. ‘I’m tired of prunes and there’s an old friend I haven’t spoken to yet.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s quite polite, but I gather you wish to be rid of me.’ He smiled with charm to melt her heart and stood aside. As she went past him he observed pleasantly: ‘What a very pretty dress—slimming, too.’
She swirled round to face him. ‘You’re the most o
bjectionable man I’ve ever met!’ and then stopped because he was laughing gently.
‘I didn’t say that you needed slimming, Amelia, I merely pointed out...’
‘All right, I know.’ She gave him a glacial nod. ‘Goodbye, Gideon.’
She didn’t speak to him for the rest of the party, although she was very aware of him moving from group to group, quite at home, too. As the guests began to leave she slid across the room to her aunt.
‘Darling, I’m going to slip away, so don’t call attention to me, will you? I don’t want... It was a lovely party, and thank you very much.’ She kissed her aunt, who wished her good-night placidly, waited until she had gone and then hurried to where Gideon was standing watching.
Amelia, her pretty face buried in the angora wrap, tore out of the house, not waiting for Crawford, her aunt’s butler, to make his stately way into the street and call a cab. She would find one easily enough, she assured him, and nipped through the door he opened for her.
The Rolls was at the kerb with Gideon leaning against it. She had no time to say more than: ‘I will not...’ before he had opened the door, scooped her up and popped her into the seat before slamming the door again.
She sat staring in front of her while he got in beside her. ‘The M4 as far as Swindon and then up to Cirencester, don’t you agree? Mansell Abbots can be reached easily from there. We could eat at the White Hart in Sonning.’
‘Look,’ she said in what she hoped was a firm voice, ‘you must be mad—I haven’t anything with me, I can’t go home like this.’
‘Why not? You look charming and I’m sure you’ve got some clothes at home.’
Which was true—she had. ‘I’m very tired,’ she muttered untruthfully, and was countered by his soothing: ‘Go to sleep, then, I’ll wake you at Sonning.’
Of course she didn’t sleep. It was wonderful to be sitting beside him even though he didn’t utter a word, not until he slowed and stopped at the White Hart. It didn’t strike Amelia until afterwards that there was a table reserved for them; by now she was famished and over her sherry discussed with enthusiasm what they would eat. They settled for bisque de homard and while she decided on a tournedos Rossini, Gideon settled for boeuf Stroganoff and the cheese board while Amelia finished off with ruche glace. They drank their claret sparingly because they still had some way to go; all the same Amelia was in a pleasantly hazy state when they got back into the car.
The Rolls made short work of the run to Swindon. The motorway was almost empty and Gideon kept his foot down until they reached the town and swung off on to the Cirencester road, picking up speed again until he turned off once more, this time into a country road leading eventually to Mansell Abbots.
And all this time he had said very little, so that as they neared their journey’s end she had asked a little peevishly: ‘Don’t you like to talk while you’re driving?’
‘But my dear girl, you told me you were tired.’ He sounded like an indulgent uncle wheedling a pampered small niece.
‘Well, I’m not any more.’
‘Good, we’re almost there. Aren’t you glad you came? Driving at night is so much more relaxing; we’ve not passed a car for miles—just us and the dark. How very romantic!’
She agreed silently; it was only a pity that while she really did find it romantic he was only joking. A flippant reply would be nice, only she couldn’t think of one.
‘You don’t agree?’ he persisted, and when she stayed silent slowed the car and pulled into the side of the narrow road. Amelia turned her head to ask him why he had done that, but she didn’t get as far as that; he kissed her very expertly and within seconds had sent the car shooting ahead again.
‘Did that help?’ he asked. ‘It should, you know. I expect your ego is at an all-time low now that Tom has gone away.’ He sounded pleasantly friendly. ‘You need one or two—er—romantic interludes to get you back on to an even keel.’
She muttered something, thinking that it was bad enough loving him but far, far worse to be the object of his pity. And at the same time she was simply livid with him. She sat, trying to sort out her various feelings, deeply thankful that home was just round the next bend. She would go to bed at once, she decided, and have a sick headache and stay in her room until he went away again. She never, she told herself savagely, wanted to set eyes on the wretch again.
Chapter SEVEN
AMELIA DIDN’T FIND IT quite as easy to carry out her plans as she had intended. For one thing her father was waiting for them and so were her two aunts, and after a good deal of kissing and hand-shaking, both she and Gideon were taken into the sitting room where a tray of sandwiches, little sausage rolls and tiny mince pies was arranged on one of the sofa tables, and Badger, after a discreet word of welcome, trotted in with coffee while Mr Crosbie offered drinks. Clearly it was to be a festive hour or so, and Amelia hadn’t the heart to go straight to her room. Her father and aunts were so patently glad to see her and, it seemed to her sensitive ears, just as glad to welcome Gideon. So she sat down between her aunts and obligingly ate the food they pressed upon her and drank several cups of coffee while she told them about the parties she had been to and passed on all the messages she had been charged with. She didn’t mention the hospital, as both of them disapproved of her working there, especially in the operating theatre, and they chatted on about their pleasant Christmas, ignoring the fact that Amelia hadn’t had one.
And presently when they considered that she had eaten enough, they turned their attention to Gideon, who had been sitting opposite Mr Crosbie by the log fire, discussing the prospects for fishing in the next year, which meant, of course, that Amelia was drawn into a general conversation which lasted for another hour or more. Despite the brandy her father had given her she began to droop a little and the aunts urged her to go to her bed. She obeyed thankfully, kissed them good-night, kissed her father too and paused to wish Gideon, who had gone to open the door for her, goodnight as well. The room was a large one and the three elderly people by the fire were talking together.
‘Don’t I get a kiss too?’ he asked silkily, and then: ‘No, perhaps not—it would be rather an anticlimax, wouldn’t it?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Sleep well—you really are tired, aren’t you?’ His voice was suddenly so gentle that she felt the tears prick her eyelids and without saying anything turned and almost ran across the hall and up the staircase.
She stayed awake just long enough to remind herself that she was going to have a sick headache all the next day.
She was awakened by the steady patter of pebbles on the window. It was barely light, but a lovely morning with a pearly sky and no wind. There had been a frost and the air bit her as she flung open the window.
‘Come on down,’ begged Gideon, standing huge in a sheepskin jacket below her. ‘A brisk walk will do you good.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Only put some clothes on first.’
Amelia withdrew smartly, remembering just in time to say that she had a headache.
‘All the more reason to come into the fresh air. Bonny told me to tell you that there’s a cup of tea for you in the kitchen.’ He stared up at her. ‘Shall I come up and fetch you?’
‘Certainly not. I’ll be down in five minutes.’ She hadn’t meant to say that, she had had no intention of going out with him. She pulled on an old tweed skirt and a sweater and tied back her hair. Then she found a pair of boots and a rather tattered windcheater, snatched up a pair of gloves and went down to the kitchen, where she found Bonny and Gideon sitting at the table with the tea-pot between them.
‘I really don’t feel like going out,’ said Amelia haughtily, and took the tea Bonny had poured for her.
‘Now none of that nonsense, Miss Amelia,’ admonished Bonny, ‘the fresh air will do you a world of good after that nasty poisonous theatre of yours. Unhealthy, I call it, a nice girl like you poking about in people�
�s insides.’
Amelia took a biscuit from the tin beside the tea-pot. ‘Bonny dear, it’s the surgeon who pokes. I only hand the things.’
‘Well, it isn’t nice. What do you think, Doctor?’
‘Not nice at all,’ agreed Gideon blandly. ‘A woman’s place is in the home, looking after her husband and children.’
‘Don’t be so old-fashioned,’ snapped Amelia.
His voice was very mild. ‘Well, you know, I don’t think that families and home-making and being married will ever be out of fashion. You’ve changed your opinions pretty smartly, Amelia. I had the impression that being a wife was something you were looking forward to—before Tom and you parted, of course.’
She stared at him wordlessly. Tom didn’t mean anything to her any more, but he wasn’t to know that; he was being cruel. She got up from the table and plonked her mug down hard. ‘That was a nice cup of tea,’ she remarked icily. ‘Enjoy your walk.’
She stalked from the room and made for the staircase, but not quite quickly enough. Gideon caught up with her as she had her foot on the bottom step and gripped her arm firmly. ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he observed genially.
She couldn’t do much about it; he was twice her size and twice as heavy too. She gave in and walked through the front door beside him, looking haughtily in front of her. Unfortunately, Gideon seemed unaware of her ill humour. He talked with disarming friendliness about everything under the sun, not seeming to notice her brief yeses and noes. But then something happened to make her forget her peevishness. They were walking along a narrow, high-hedged lane, the dead bracken and leafless briars silvered with frost, the grass beneath stiff and spiky. It was a movement among these spikes followed by a small pitiful cry which stopped Amelia in her tracks. She put out an urgent hand and caught Gideon’s sleeve. ‘There’s something...a snare...’
He was already on his knees, gently freeing the rabbit caught by a hind leg in a wire snare. It was trembling with terror and even when it was free, lay motionless in his hands while he examined it.
