by Betty Neels
He was at the door before she could reach it. He was smiling a little and had kissed her before she could turn her head. ‘Crosspatch,’ he said, and actually laughed.
Which, naturally enough, caused her to burst into tears the moment she got into her room.
Feelings or no feelings, she woke on Christmas Eve knowing that they must be hidden. Besides the extra bustle in the house the carol singers would be coming in the early evening, she would be going to the church with an armful of flowers specially grown in the glasshouse and there was a Christmas lunch for the children in the village hall at noon. A busy day and she thanked heaven for it.
She dressed carefully, knowing that it was expected of her, and Titus nodded approval when they met at breakfast. ‘I’ll see you at the children’s party,’ he told her pleasantly, for all the world as though they had parted the best of friends. ‘I’ve one or two things to attend to first while you’re in church.’ He added, ‘We go to the midnight service, Arabella. Grandmother and Miss Welling come too, and so do the Butters.’
She thought she detected a warning note in his quiet voice. ‘I shall enjoy that. Do we go to the morning service as well?’
‘Yes. It makes a full morning so we usually exchange our gifts when we get back here around noon, before lunch. I dare say you’ve already seen Mrs Butter?’
‘Yes, she’s arranged everything beautifully.’
‘She was the kitchenmaid here when Grandmother came here as a bride. She must have been very young—thirteen or fourteen, I suppose. She has been here every Christmas since then.’
‘But she married Butter...’
‘There was a butler in those days—servants were two a penny—Butter worked under him until he learned to drive and he’s been driving ever since and running the place for me. He’s more than a servant, he’s an old friend—so is Mrs Butter. She used to give me slices of bread and dripping—I was always hungry and dripping in those days was delicious...’
Arabella looked down at her plate, picturing a small hungry boy wolfing bread and dripping. ‘You were happy here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. And I shall be again.’ He added silkily, ‘I cannot say that at the moment I am happy.’
‘Well, nor am I,’ said Arabella in what she hoped was a reasonable voice. Perhaps this was the right moment to talk—over a prosaic breakfast table in the cold light of the morning.
It seemed that it wasn’t; Butter came in to say that the flowers had been brought up from the glasshouse and perhaps she would care to approve them when she had breakfasted.
‘I’ll come now. I’ve finished,’ said Arabella, all of a sudden anxious to escape from Titus, sitting so close to her and yet so far away.
The flowers were beautiful and she was lavish in her praise. ‘I’ll take them with me now. I’m going to church early—they’ll need to be arranged.’
She put on the new winter coat and added the hat she had bought in a fit of extravagance. It was of the softest felt with a narrow brim which curved around her face and tilted very slightly sideways. It matched the coat exactly and she was well pleased with it. She was pleased with her boots too—of the very latest style, making the most of her small feet—and since it was Christmas she tucked a green scarf patterned with holly into the neck of the coat. Surveying her person in the pier glass, she thought that she didn’t look too bad—not that Titus would notice, she reflected—and went downstairs.
He was in the hall, huge in his overcoat, waiting for her.
‘Shall we walk down?’ he asked her.
Since Butter was hovering, ready to open the door, she said at once, ‘Oh, yes, I should like that. Will you take the dogs?’
‘Of course. We’ll part company at the church—I dare say you’ll be some time there. We’re expected for coffee at the rectory at eleven o’clock; we’ll meet there.’
They went out together and Butter watched them go and thought what a splendid couple they made. Trust the doctor to get himself such a perfect little lady...
Arabella, walking beside Titus out of the gates and into the lane leading to the village, was surprised to find that despite their quarrel she felt quite at ease with him, listening to his easy flow of casual talk. And he, used to putting patients at their ease, watched her expressive face and was satisfied.
He left her at the church after a brief talk—his arm around her shoulder—with the rector, and she was led away to see about the flowers while the rector enlarged upon the doctor’s splendid character. ‘Takes after his father,’ he told her. ‘Does a great deal for the village, you know, and very much dislikes anyone finding out about it.’ He beamed at Arabella. ‘But of course he has no secrets from you, my dear Mrs Tavener.’
She and Titus met again at the rectory where they had coffee, surrounded by the rector’s son and daughter-in-law and their children, all talking at once and plying them with mince pies.
Arabella, led away to tidy herself before going to the village hall, remembered that Titus’s various aunts and uncles would arrive at teatime and wondered if they’d be as much fun as the rector’s household. She adjusted the hat, powdered her nose and accompanied Titus through the village once more.
The children’s lunch was noisy; the little boys tended to fight among themselves and the little girls, in their best dresses, were shy to start with and then noisier than the boys. They ate everything on the long table and drank enormous quantities of lemonade before pulling the crackers, putting on paper hats and crowding round the Christmas tree to receive the parcels Arabella was to hand to each of them.
She was enjoying herself mightily; she had taken off her coat, put a paper hat on top of her own elegant headgear and was singing along with the children in a small clear voice.
Titus was enchanted. The world was a wonderful place in which to be and only he and Arabella were in it. He smiled a little—he was a little too old to have such romantic thoughts. If only she would let him explain about Geraldine—but he would have to wait for the right moment to do that. In the meantime they must hide their differences for a couple of days, and perhaps her idea of staying at the manor for a few days was a good one...
They went back home presently, with the dogs running free around them, and had sherry with Mrs Tavener and Miss Welling. They ate their lunch with a good appetite and much cheerful small-talk then separated to go their own ways—Mrs Tavener to rest, with Miss Welling to read aloud to her, Titus to his study and Arabella to tour the guest-rooms to make sure that everything was just as it should be. There would be six guests staying over Christmas and eight more coming to lunch on Boxing Day.
She went to look out of the window of the largest room overlooking the grounds at the back of the house and saw Titus strolling around with the dogs. He looked very much at home in elderly, beautifully tailored tweeds, his hands in his pockets. He was whistling too. The wish to join him was very great. If she did, she reflected, he would greet her with apparent pleasure and set himself out to entertain her with a gentle flow of talk. He would probably wish her at Jericho. She went down to the kitchen and spent the next half-hour conferring with Mrs Butter.
The guests arrived for tea—first Mrs Tavener’s son, a very upright grey-haired man with a reserved manner, who shook Arabella’s hand and begged her to call him Uncle Tom, and his wife, Aunt Mary, who peered at her through thick lenses and murmured softly that it was a great pity that Jeremy Titus and Rosa weren’t there to see their daughter-in-law.
‘My father and mother,’ said Titus briskly. ‘Uncle Tom is the younger son. Come and meet the cousins.’ They were three young men and a girl of her own age. ‘Josephine, Bill, Thomas and Mark.’ She shook hands with them in turn, aware of their interested gazes.
It was Thomas who spoke, a serious-looking young man who looked as though smiling was an effort. ‘We were beginning to think that Titus would neve
r marry...’
‘Head of the family and all that,’ explained Mark. ‘Wish I’d seen you first.’ He was a cheerful young man with an engaging grin. ‘I’m a medical man too—haven’t had time to get married, let alone find a girl to love as yet.’ He nodded towards Thomas. ‘He’s just got engaged and Josephine is on the brink. Before we know where we are the family gatherings will be littered with babies.’
Everyone laughed, even Thomas, and after that the talk became general over tea round the fire. Presently Arabella went away to help Mrs Butter with the dinner table; they had discussed the menu over the phone some time ago and had decided on smoked salmon, rack of lamb with several vegetables and sauté potatoes, and a trifle for dessert. The table looked charming with a starched linen cloth, the family silver, a centrepiece of holly, ringed around by red candles in silver candlesticks, and sparkling crystal glasses. She went away to change her dress, feeling well pleased.
It was after one o’clock by the time she was in bed. The church had been full and no one had hurried away afterwards but had stayed, exchanging good wishes, and old Mrs Tavener had had to be coaxed away and driven back. Arabella had accompanied her and Miss Welling to her own rooms and seen her safely settled with a warm drink.
‘You’re a dear child,’ the old lady had declared. ‘Titus is a lucky man.’
He might not agree with that, reflected Arabella in the morning, accepting a cup of hot chocolate from him and sitting down beside Aunt Mary, but he was behaving exactly as he should—the smiling glance, the hand on her shoulder—almost as if he meant it.
Breakfast was leisurely before church and it was only when they got back that the family, with the Butters, gathered round the Christmas tree. Arabella and Titus handed out the presents together and since everyone had brought a gift for everyone else the drawing-room was soon knee-deep in coloured paper. It wasn’t until the last of the presents had been handed out that Arabella sat down to open her own pile.
‘Move over,’ said Titus and sat down beside her on one of the sofas while Butter went round with a tray of champagne. ‘I wonder why one has such pleasure in opening parcels?’
‘Natural curiosity.’ Arabella was admiring a rose-pink silk scarf from Josephine. ‘Exactly what I would like best,’ she told her new cousin. They were going to get on well together, she and Josephine. They smiled at each other across the room and she picked up the next gift. She had seen quickly enough the little box with its label written in Titus’s hand and deliberately left it until the last. There had been presents from the dogs and from Percy of course—chocolates, perfume, a little evening bag—and of course he had bought those, just as she had given him a Victorian ink-blotter for his desk from the four of them. Everyone else was still opening gifts and no one was watching them. She felt his hand on hers for a moment. ‘How did you know,’ he asked her quietly, ‘that I collect rare books?’
‘I looked round the library here and at Little Venice. I hope you’ll like it.’
‘I am delighted with it, Arabella. Thank you, my dear.’
She opened the little box then. There were earrings inside, diamonds set in gold, miniature replicas of the necklace.
She held them up. ‘They’re beautiful, and they match the necklace—’ She looked a question.
‘I had them made...’
‘But you gave me the necklace only a week or two ago.’
He said patiently, ‘I knew I would give you the necklace—oh, before we married—and it seemed that the earrings would go very well with it.’
‘You did that before—’ she paused and went on softly ‘—before you—before we went to Holland?’
She choked back tears and Mark called across the room, ‘You two—what are you whispering about? Arabella, what has Titus given you? It must be something marvellous to make you look so bright-eyed.’
She got up and went to sit by him, taking the earrings with her, and everyone crowded round to see them. ‘You must wear them,’ cried Aunt Mary. So Arabella went to the Florentine mirror between the windows and put them on and someone cried, ‘Aren’t you going to thank him for them? Go on, it’s Christmas.’
There was nothing for it but to go over to the sofa. Titus had got to his feet and she stretched up to kiss his cheek. At least, that had been her intention. Instead she found herself swept into his arms and kissed in a manner which took her breath away.
‘Oh,’ squeaked Arabella, and stared up into his face. His eyes were very blue and the gleam in them was no longer hidden.
‘A pity we aren’t alone,’ he said softly, and let her go amid an outburst of cheerful teasing and laughter.
The rest of the day didn’t seem quite real to Arabella. Lunch had been a buffet with everyone milling around—talking about their presents, recalling other Christmases, discussing the rest of the family who would arrive in time for tea. Tea had gone off well too, with a host of new faces and names to remember and the cake to cut, and then a brief peace while those staying in the house went upstairs to change for dinner. She had worn the brown dress with the diamond necklace and the earrings and there had been a lot more talk while they had drunk champagne cocktails and then gathered round the table to eat turkey with all the trimmings and one of Mrs Butter’s Christmas puddings. She had sat opposite Titus at the oval table and tried not to look at him, something which she found very difficult.
Boxing Day, with a house overflowing with guests and several people from the village coming in for drinks, kept her so busy that she had no time to talk to Titus—which was a good thing. She was still feeling shy about his kiss and puzzled too, although perhaps he had kissed her like that because the family was watching. When they were alone again she would ask him—they still had to talk about Geraldine...
He went back to Little Venice after dinner on Boxing Day, leaving her there until he came to fetch her at the weekend. She went with him to the door after he had said goodbye to his family in the drawing-room.
‘Well, we buried the hatchet very well, didn’t we?’ he observed, standing close to her, looking down on to the top of her head, smiling a little.
‘Well, I think...’ began Arabella, to be stilled by the ringing of the phone on the side table.
Titus picked it up. ‘Mrs Turner? Is something wrong?’ He listened a moment. ‘From Leiden? You said I would be back later tonight—good.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I should be with you in two or three hours.’
He hung up and Arabella said, ‘That was Geraldine...’
He gave her a cold stare, his face expressionless. ‘If you say so, Arabella...’
He went out to his car without a word, not looking at her, and because she loved him so much she knew instinctively that he was in a white-hot rage. ‘Take care, Titus, oh, do take care...!’
He drove away without a glance and she stood shivering on the step until the tail-lights had disappeared. It was a good thing that when she returned to her guests her white face was attributed to her having to part with Titus. She was surrounded by people intent on cheering her up, plying her with drink and the suggestion that she should go to bed and have a good night’s rest.
‘All the excitement,’ said Aunt Mary. ‘You must be worn out. And you’ve made such a success of it, my dear. We all understand how you feel, it’s hard to be parted, but doctors’ wives...’
Everyone went home after lunch the following day and Mrs Tavener and Miss Welling retired to their own part of the house, which left Arabella with the three dogs and Percy for company. She had phoned Little Venice early that morning and Mrs Turner had told her that the doctor had left for the hospital not half an hour since. ‘Looked worn out, he did,’ Mrs Turner had said. ‘A good thing when it’s the weekend and he can fetch you back. And all that telephoning just when he should have been going to his bed...’
‘Oh, yes,’ Arabella had said, ‘the call from
Leiden...’
‘That’s right, madam. Went on and on, it did. Must have been about a patient, I suppose, because I heard him say he’d ring later.’
It was a phone call Arabella wished she hadn’t made, for it only made the day harder to get through. A long walk with the dogs made her feel better. She had tea by the fire in the little sitting-room with Percy on her lap and the dogs hugging the fire and, since the Butters were going to the village for an evening with friends there, she had undertaken to see to her own dinner.
She busied herself presently in the kitchen—making a salad, cooking scrambled eggs and making a pot of coffee. She ate at the kitchen table, tidied everything away and went back to watch TV, but after a while she switched off and, suddenly making up her mind, phoned Little Venice. Mrs Turner answered again.
She sounded puzzled when Arabella asked to speak to the doctor. ‘He’s gone to Holland, madam—in a terrible rush, he was. Expects to be back tomorrow some time. I expect he’ll phone you from there.’
Her voice held a faint question, so that Arabella said at once, ‘I’m sure that he will—if he had a plane to catch he wouldn’t have had the time to do a lot of explaining. I shall hear all about it when he gets back and I’m sure he’ll phone here once he has the chance. It might be something urgent.’
It was a good thing she was on her own, she reflected, for there was time to think. How he must have disliked having to spend Christmas here, being the perfect host and the perfect husband, she thought. I dare say he made the excuse of work at the hospital so that he could get back as soon as possible. I wonder what she said that made him go to Leiden in such a hurry?
Arabella picked up the magazine lying on the table beside her and began to tear it into ribbons. The exercise gave her a certain amount of satisfaction although she would have much preferred the magazine to have been Geraldine. It relieved her feelings a little, although a few good screams would have been a great relief.
