by Sue Peters
'Most of the corn's in now.' Nan wandered outside into the churchyard, and sank on to a wooden seat placed so that it viewed the wide, fertile valley, and the high sweep of the hill rising on the other side. 'There's only that one field at the end—look,' she pointed, 'and they've nearly finished that.' The faint hum of machinery reached them on the still air, at this distance hardly louder than the noise of honey bees busy among some late lavender flowers on a bush beside the church porch.
'Have they still got bees at the Manor, now?' Steve asked idly, attracted by the noise they made as she joined Nan on the seat. 'There used to be a lot of hives in the orchard at one time. You helped with them when you were at school, didn't you? I don't know how you dared,' she admitted.
'They're not dangerous if you know how to handle them.' Nan smiled, remembering. 'I've always thought I'd like some hives of my own.'
'What, at Bartholomews? You would be popular!' Steve exclaimed.
'Don't be a goose,' Nan gave a ripple of amusement at the visions her friend's remark conjured up. 'No, I mean if ever I get a home of my own. A home with a garden.' Her face and voice were wistful, and Steve darted her a sharp glance.
'That's what I think is the matter with the Manor now,' she said shrewdly. 'It's always been a home, with children around, and—things. Live things.' She waved her hand vaguely to indicate the appurtenances gathered by the Squire and his family over the years. 'The Lisles don't seem to live in the place, somehow.' She wrinkled her forehead. 'It's as if they're—they're ‑' she struggled to find expression, and burst out, 'as if they're wearing the place for the time being, like a model wears a slinky dress, and then takes it off when she's had it photographed.'
'I know what you mean.' Nan was not disposed to laugh at her friend's mode of expression, it fitted too exactly. 'But if Marcia has her way, the Manor's going to get pretty badly marked before she takes it off,' she said tardy.
'Isn't that her, now?' Steve sat upright on the bench and pointed across, the churchyard into the adjoining Manor grounds. 'Over by the orchard, look. Heading towards the old grass tennis court. There's someone with her,' she added interestedly.
'It's Keir.' Nan's voice was flat. Somehow she knew it was Keir even before she looked. He had not wanted the Land-Rover to make ah early start on his rounds, as he implied. No, she had inferred that, she acknowledged truthfully, and Keir had just let her. And all the time he wanted the vehicle so that he could go and see Marcia. He had known she would let him have it, thinking his need was more important than her own.
She watched the distant figures angrily. It seemed almost like eaves dropping, but she was unable to take her eyes away from them. The church stood higher on the rise than the Manor, so that it was possible to look down across the far end of the grounds where the orchard and spinney lay, and she could see them walking side by side quite clearly. Keir's dark head was close to Marcia's fair one, bending towards her as if he listened carefully to what his companion had to say. The sun glinted brassily on the girl's blonde head, and for a moment the distant figures seemed to merge as they reached the small wicket gate leading into the orchard. The gate Nan herself used to climb on to to feed the donkey. She thrust the thought from her. It still stuck. She felt an impish satisfaction as she saw Keir bend and struggle for a moment to open it. She noticed he shut it carefully behind him afterwards, but instead of walking on Marcia stood still, facing him as he straightened up from the gate. Keir stopped too, and Nan saw his arm rise as if—she' caught her breath sharply—as if he were going to take Marcia in his arms, but his hand went higher, towards her head. Was he stroking her hair? He seemed attracted to platinum blondes. He moved slightly so that his back was towards where Nan and Steve sat, his own form sheltering that of the girl from their gaze, and they stood for a moment or two, close together, before they turned and disappeared among the shadows of the apple trees.
'Let's go.' Nan jumped to her feet, unable to remain still a moment longer.
'What are you going to do?' Steve asked her quietly.
'Go back to Bartholomews.' Nan did not resent her question. She had poured her heart out to her companion, and naturally Steve would want to know.
'It isn't like you to admit defeat.'
'I'm not battling for the affection of someone who doesn't even know I'm there.' Nan's chin came up. 'The only time he sees me is when he wants someone to argue with, or someone to drive him on his rounds,' she said resentfully.
'Perhaps he doesn't like driving since his wife was killed in that car accident,' Steve said sympathetically. 'It's understandable, in a way.'
'If I hadn't been at Minster House, he'd have had to drive himself,' Nan pointed out.
'He'd have had to make the effort,' Steve conceded, 'but you said he hadn't bothered to buy a car since his own was wrecked, and it's been nearly two years since that happened. He was probably relieved to have you take over the driving for him.'
'He wouldn't need the use of a car while he was in London, there're plenty of taxis available, it'd be less bother to hail one than try and find parking space.' Nan was not disposed to be sympathetic, her own feelings were too raw.
'He'll find it strange to be behind the wheel again after so long.'
'He's driven the Land-Rover. He drove it back from the caravan after we'd delivered the gipsy woman's baby,' Nan remembered. 'He handled it well enough then, and the other night, coming back from Marcia's party. Look for yourself,' she pointed to where the Manor gates joined the lane through the village. 'He doesn't lack confidence, even if he lacks practice,' she said critically.
'I wonder where they're going?' Steve watched curiously as the Minster House Land-Rover took the turning through the village, with Keir at the wheel, and the unmistakable figure of Marcia by his side.
'Into Hopminster, I shouldn't wonder, to place the order for the tennis courts,' Nan guessed. 'There's a landscape firm who do that sort of thing, on the main road just before you get into town. I suppose they've agreed on the site, so they might as well get the job started,' she added bitterly.
'Are you going to ask Keir, when you see him?'
'Certainly not!' The idea of showing any sort of interest was repugnant to Nan, though she could not help wondering, and found Keir's silence on the subject at dinner time piqued her more than she cared to admit.
'Did Lisle have any comment to make on the report?' Oliver Gray asked.
'He wasn't in when I got there,' Keir responded, 'so I wasn't able to sound him out.'
So that was why Keir had gone to the Manor. It was not simply to see Marcia, after all. Nan felt a small glow of satisfaction at the thought. 'I went on to the hospital afterwards,' Keir added, 'so it wasn't a wasted journey.'
Why did he bother to lie? Nan stiffened in her chair. He need not have said anything at all, Oliver Gray would not have questioned where he had gone, so why make a point of saying he had gone to the hospital, when she herself knew he had taken Marcia out?
'Where's the string, Nan?' Timmy trotted into the drawing, room, and Nan put down her coffee cup with a sigh.
'I thought Rose was going to give you some?'
'She has, but it's all knots. You can't play cat's cradle with all knots,' Timmy said plaintively.
'There's a new ball in the cupboard.' Nan rummaged through the drawer and measured a length for him. 'Have you got the scissors?'
'I've got a knife.' Keir got up from his chair and produced his pocket knife. 'You hold it, and I'll cut.' He pulled out the broken blade, which was honed to surprising sharpness, and with a quick flick parted the string. He held out his hand for the piece he had cut off, but Nan pretended not to notice, and gave it to Timmy instead.
'Tie the ends tightly,' she told him, 'or you'll have your cradle give way just when you've got it nicely started.'
'Aren't you going to play?' His small face dropped with disappointment.
'I've got to finish my corn dolly, or it won't be ready for the festival,' she refused. It gave her an
excellent excuse to retire to her chair, which she pushed well out of the circle round the hearth as if she found the fire too warm, and tried to ignore the running commentary between the boy and Keir, but try as she would their voices persisted in coming between herself and her work, disturbing her concentration, so that twice she had to discard her straw and start again. The second time it happened she was almost glad of Timmy's interruption.
'I've done my cradle, Nan,' he held out his hands to show her, 'but Doctor Raven can't take it from me, his hands are too big.' His expression took on woebegone lines at the wasted effort.
'Let me have it on my fingers first,' she held them out invitingly. 'I can wriggle it looser, and he can take it from me then.' Willy-nilly she was trapped into giving it to him. Too late she realised her mistake, and was sorely tempted to let the string slip from her fingers, but the child gazed at his handiwork so proudly that she had not got the courage. 'That's got it—look!' She slipped the complicated structure of strands on to her own fingers, and turned towards Keir, trying not to show her reluctance.
'Now hold out your hands. Not too wide, or it won't go on,' she concentrated on her task, trying to blot everything else from her mind, but her own tension was her undoing. One end of the string slipped, and in response to Timmy's frantic, 'Oh, mind, grab it quick!' Keir caught at the string and her fingers at the same time, and the brief, unexpected contact was enough. Her armour of anger against him vanished as if it had never been.
'I must get back to Bartholomews. Away from here ...' She clutched at the thought of escape to still the wild drumming of her heart. Bartholomews offered peace, and a refuge away from Keir, where she did not have to see him and speak to him every day.
'That's fine—look, I've got it all now. It is clever, isn't it?' he praised the boy's achievement.
'You haven't got this bit, it goes round your thumb.' Timmy adjusted the string to his satisfaction. 'That's almost as good as Daddy does it.' He looked suddenly downcast at the mention of his father, and Mary Gray shot a warning look at Keir. It was perilously close to bedtime.
'Oh, that reminds me,' Keir gave her a small, reassuring nod, 'your mother and father are getting better a lot quicker than we thought they would,' he announced casually. 'Your mother's walking quite well on crutches, and your father runs races up and down the ward in his wheelchair,' he exaggerated. 'How about coming with me tomorrow—you could see them for half an hour or so,' he offered. 'Perhaps help keep them in order for me?' he twinkled.
'I thought you said I couldn't, until I was fourteen?' Timmy had a longer memory than Keir gave him credit for.
'You can't visit them in the wards, but now they can get about they can come to you,' Keir assured him. 'They can come outside into the main reception hall, and it won't be long before they can come home altogether,' he added. 'In fact'—when Rose had finally taken the excited child off to bed with the threat that, 'You won't go if you don't do as you're told now'—'his mother could be discharged in a day or two if she could manage to take it easy for a while after she got home.' He glanced at his partner. 'What's the Home Help service like in this district?' he asked.
'Stretched to the limit,' Oliver Gray replied bluntly, 'but Mary said she'd got something in mind?' He looked hopefully towards his wife.
'It was Rose who suggested it,' Mary replied. 'She offered to go and stay at the Marriotts for a few weeks until Helen is out of her plaster, and feeling strong enough to cope again. Nan won't be going home for a week or two yet,' she said comfortably, 'so we could manage without Rose quite well for a while.' She solved the problem for the vet and his wife, and unwittingly made a bigger one for Nan. And then, in her gentle way, she added yet another one on top of it. 'I shan't want Nan's help in the house,' she smiled across at her niece, 'Mrs Cummings said she'd come up and do the rough work, that'll only leave the cooking, so you'll still be free to enjoy the rest of the holiday,' she said kindly.
'I shall be busy in the mornings, with Rose out,' Nan protested. For some reason she felt the need to defend herself against Keir's intent stare, and being busy in the house was as good a way as any.
'But you'll still have the afternoons and evenings free,' he reminded her softly. 'So I'll be able to have you as my chauffeur for a little while longer,' he finished with satisfaction.
CHAPTER NINE
'It'll be wonderful, having Rose to help.' Helen Marriott's face was radiant when Keir broke the news of her imminent discharge. 'I feel guilty about tying you down on your holiday, though,' she looked at Nan remorsefully. 'Are you sure ...?'
'Of course I'm sure,' Nan silenced her doubts firmly. She herself was sure of only one thing, she admitted to herself silently. She felt trapped. She knew how a caged bird must feel, beating its wings against unyielding bars, and unable to fly free. But she could not tell Helen this, could not confess it even to her aunt. She would have to somehow carry on as before, wishing the weeks away until Helen's plaster was removed and she was mobile again. She would not even have Timmy for company, as a barrier between herself and Keir during the evenings, she realised with fresh dismay.
'We'll miss him,' she told the boy's mother. 'He was teaching Keir how to play that, last night.' The boy had pocketed the length of string, and was now demonstrating to his former pupil how cat's cradle should be played, with the help of his father.
'Keir seems to like children,' Helen commented. 'I've missed him, the hours have seemed endless to both of us since we've been in here. At least I'll be able to do a few odd jobs when I get home, there's a stack of socks to darn.' She made the normally dull chore sound like a treat, and Nan laughed.
'You can start doing some knitting,' she told her friend. 'Steve Whitworth's going to need a lot of little woollies before next Easter,' she broke the good news.
'That'll be a christening to look forward to,' Helen enthused. 'I always think a christening is specially appropriate at Easter don't you?'
'I couldn't agree more,' Keir joined in the conversation unexpectedly. 'Yes, Sister, what is it?' he interrupted himself to speak pleasantly to the uniformed woman who approached him.
'Could you spare us a minute in Casualty, Doctor Raven?' She spoke briskly, as if she was sure of Keir's compliance before she asked. 'It's nothing much, but we've had three accident cases arrive all at once, and it would save them having to wait if you could look after one. of them while you're here,' she explained hopefully.
'I'll come at once,' Keir said instantly. 'Will you wait for me, Nan? I may be a little while.'
'Of course I'll wait.' He did not need to be polite because they were in company, she thought impatiently. 'It'll give you longer with Timmy,' she smiled at his parents.
'You won't see my sunflowers. You won't be able to come to church for the harvest service,' Realisation that their disabilities would deprive his parents of the looked-forward-to festival dawned on Timmy, and his face dropped.
'They won't miss it altogether.' Nan had carefully armoured herself against the eventuality, and blessed the kindly vicar for offering a solution to the difficulty. 'The vicar's coming to the hospital straight after morning service to hold a short harvest service here,' she told the boy, 'he's bringing the choir with him, and he said you could go along too, and sing, if you liked.'
'What about my sunflowers?' The child's face brightened, and Nan looked down on him wistfully. How nice to be six years old, and be able to turn to the nearest grown-up to get your problems solved for you before bedtime, she thought enviously. If only her own problems were as easy to solve, particularly before bedtime! Dark shadows under her eyes betrayed restless nights that had encountered too many dawns without an answer to her own worries, -she thought wretchedly. 'I've left a few blooms in your garden for seed for next year,' she settled Timmy's difficulty promptly enough. 'We can bring them up here and put them in a vase.'
'And I'll pocket enough seed for next year, and bring it home with me when I come. How will that do?' Bob Marriott skilfully capped Nan's sugges
tion.
'Ooh, lovely!' Timmy approved enthusiastically. 'Did you make them better?' He broke off as Keir reappeared, rolling down his shirt sleeves and re-donning his jacket.
'Yes, they weren't serious,' he answered the child's question gravely. He never talked down to the boy, Nan noticed, and always took time to consider his questions, so that he gave a satisfactory answer, even if it was sometimes cautiously censored. Only someone who was fond of children would go to so much trouble.
'Not another car smash?' Helen looked concerned.
'Nothing like that,' Keir answered her easily. 'Someone started a stubble fire, and stood on the wrong side of the flames to the wind, and got scorched. Silly thing to do, messing with fire,' he added, with a glance at the boy's interested face.
'Sister said there were three.' Timmy could count as well as he could remember.
'Yes, but the other two were pure accidents,' Keir told him. 'One of the farmhands was using a scythe on an awkward bit of the headlands where the combine couldn't reach, and the blade glanced off a stone and cut his leg, and I had to stitch him up. The other was someone picking apples, and he took a tumble when the branch gave way.'
'Doctor Raven's mended far worse things than that,' Bob Marriott sent him a grateful glance. 'You wouldn't believe it,' he turned to Nan, 'but those two youngsters in the sports car that hit us are sitting up in bed hoping the lad won't get his licence endorsed for careless driving,' he said incredulously.
'I'll get mine endorsed by Mary if I don't get back in time for lunch.' Nan glanced at her watch and frowned. 'I've promised to take Rose to your house this afternoon, so she'll know her way about before you come home,' she explained to Helen. 'She wants to light the fires, and dust round, and so on.'
'Take Timmy along with you, he knows where everything's kept, and he'll show Rose round while you pick the rest of the sunflowers.' His mother adroitly gave the boy some responsibility, and avoided the possibility of a tearful leave-taking at the same time.
