Fate takes a hand

by Betty Neels

  `You'll forgive me if I leave you in Dodge's care? I have to return to Maude's and I may be back late. If I don't see you in the morning, tell him which train you wish to catch and he will see you on your way.'

  He didn't wait for her answer but gave her a curt `Goodnight' over his shoulder as he left the dining-room, and a moment later she heard the front door close. It was strange, she reflected, that she should feel lonely the moment he was out of the house.

  Dodge ushered her back into the drawing-room,

  offered magazines, switched on the television set concealed in a corner of the room, and indicated that suitable night-things had been put in her room for her use.

  `Early-morning tea at half-past seven, miss, if that is agreeable to you?'

  `Yes—yes, thank you. I should like to catch the ten-forty train.'

  `Certainly, miss. If there is something else you require, just ring the bell by the fireplace.'

  `I think I'll go to bed early...'

  `In that case, I wish you goodnight, miss. I trust you will sleep well.'

  She thought it unlikely; there was too much on her mind. She had a long hot bath, doing sums in her head, calculating to the last penny how much she could pay back at once, and there was the rent...

  She got into bed wearing the silk and lace nightie she had found draped over a chair. Whose? she wondered as she put it on, and then forgot about it as she climbed into bed and settled against the pillows. She still had a lot of thinking to do—she switched off the bedside lamp and lay in the dark. What was she going to tell Peter? She was asleep before she had the answer.

  She woke to find a stout woman in a print overall arranging a small tray of tea by the bed. She drew back the curtains and wished Eulalia good morning in a cheerful cockney voice, adding, 'Breakfast in half an hour, miss,' and went away.

  Eulalia sat up in bed and drank her tea and ate the wafer-thin slices of bread and butter. There was a lot to be said for luxury; she only hoped that Mr van Linssen's Ursula appreciated the prospect of a comfortable future. She had a shower, dressed, and went downstairs, torn between the hope that Mr van Linssen would be there and a wish never to set eyes on him again.

  He was there at the breakfast-table in a charming little room at the back of the house. He got up as she went in, wished her good morning with impersonal politeness, expressed the hope that she had slept well and invited her to sit down. So she sat, poured her coffee, accepted the offer of scrambled eggs from Dodge and started her meal, turning over in her mind suitable topics for conversation. Never mind that she detested the sight of him sitting there so handsome and self-assured, good manners demanded that. While she was still formulating a remark about the weather, he got to his feet again. `You will forgive me? I have an early appointment. Dodge will see you safely away.'

  `Oh—I'll write—no, I won't. Mr Willett can write about paying back the money and the rent and...'

  He said with barely concealed impatience, 'Yes, yes, do whatever you wish. Please give my regards to Miss Trott and my warmest greetings to Peter.'

  `He asked me to give you his love.' She saw him glance at his watch and hurried on. 'And thank you for your hospitality, you have been most kind.'

  His smile mocked her. 'You're too old to tell fibs,' he observed and went away, closing the door gently behind him.

  She finished her breakfast, her thoughts in a fine muddle, and Dodge came presently to tell her that he would drive her to the station in good time to catch her train.

  `There's really no need. I can get a bus and I'll leave with time to spare.'

  `We have a small car for use in town, miss. Mr van Linssen asked me to see you safely on to your train.'

  His look was so reproachful that she gave in.

  The small car turned out to be a beautifully kept Rover. Still looking melancholy, Dodge drove through the traffic, parked the car and accompanied her on to the platform, pausing on the way to purchase a couple of newspapers and a magazine or two which he handed to her as she got into the train. She thanked him and shook his hand and he gave her a rare smile.

  `I wish you a safe journey, miss, and hope to see you again.'

  `Thank you, Dodge. I don't expect to come to London again. Thank you for making me so comfortable.'

  He stood on the platform as the train drew away. His mournful expression didn't reflect his thoughts. She would be back if the master had anything to do with it. He dismissed Miss Kendall without a second

  thought—she hadn't a chance against this nice young lady...

  Eulalia got back to Ivy Cottage in time to share her lunch with Trottie, and that lady, taking one look at her downcast face, said comfortably, 'No need to talk for the moment, Miss Lally, take off that jacket and sit down. I've some pasties in the oven and a cup of tea to wash them down.'

  Over their second cup of tea Trottie observed mildly, 'That was kind of Mr van Linssen to send a message and look after you for the night. I was getting that uneasy.'

  Eulalia put down her cup. 'I went to the hospital and saw him there. He—he found it amusing that I had found out about the cottage and all that money. He didn't make any excuse or give a reason—he called me pig-headed. I wish I had thrown something at him...'

  `You always were an impetuous girl,' said Trottie. `You came to some agreement?'

  `Yes—no. I don't know, he just didn't care. I said I'd see Mr Willett and send back as much money as I had and pay rent for this cottage. He wasn't a bit interested,' she added crossly. 'He practically ordered me to spend the night at his house.'

  `Well, love, London's a nasty place after dark for young women on their own. He did quite right.' She glanced at Eulalia's unhappy face. 'You won't be seeing him again?'

  `Certainly not. Besides, he has no reason to come here.'

  Trottie could think of a very good reason but she didn't say so. Mr van Linssen was old and wise enough to arrange his life to his own satisfaction. As for Lally, once she had simmered down and thought things over... Trottie, an incurable romantic, nodded to herself.

  Eulalia said thoughtfully, 'I don't need to tell Peter anything, do I? I won't be able to open the shop this year. I'll get a job. It'll have to be part-time so that I can fit in the buses... I can tell him that I've decided to learn a bit more about it before starting on my own. Could we manage, Trottie?'

  `Of course we can, Miss Lally. We'll have all the veg and fruit we need—we can splash out a bit at weekends when he's home.' She added bracingly, `It's a sight better than Cromwell Road.'

  `Oh, Trottie, I know, only I feel humiliated; he was amused, just as though it was a joke. I felt like someone to whom he's thrown money in the street.'

  `Now, now, Miss Lally, you didn't ought to think that. He's a good man, only he don't let it show.'

  `I hate him,' said Eulalia fierily.

  All the same, she presented her usual serene face when Peter came back from school, gave him a suitably expurgated version of her visit to London, added Mr van Linssen's greetings and answered his eager questions as to how he had looked and what he had said.

  He asked wistfully, 'He didn't say he'd come and see me?'

  `Well, no, darling. He leads such a busy life. When he took me to his house yesterday evening he only stayed a little while, because he had to go back to the hospital, and in the morning when I went down to breakfast he had to go within a few minutes.'

  `When he marries,' said Peter, 'his wife and children won't see him very often, will they?'

  She had a quick mental picture of him sitting at the head of his breakfast-table with a smiling wife facing him and children on either side of him—several children, she reflected, he was a man to want a family. She shook the thought away; if he married his Ursula he would be lucky to have one lonely child, and he or she would probably be out of sight in the nursery. She felt a sudden pang of pity for him. She must stop thinking about him, and when she did, it must be with dislike.

  Her pity was wasted, of course. Mr van Linssen n
eeded none; he was in complete command of his destiny, even though it would need some rearranging before it was to his liking. Even the arrival of Ursula on the following evening did nothing to destroy his calm.

  She brushed past Dodge as though he wasn't there and flung into the dining-room where Mr van Linssen was eating his dinner.

  `Where were you last night?' she demanded. `Dulcie Shaw saw you in the car with a girl. Who was she and why was she with you?'

  He put down his napkin and got to his feet. 'My dear Ursula, this is an unexpected pleasure. You won't mind if I finish dinner? I had no time-for lunch today. Can Dodge bring you something?'

  `I dined hours ago,' she snapped, 'at the Shaws'— Dulcie was there, of course, sniggering about it. You should have been with me...'

  Mr van Linssen selected cheese and took a biscuit. `My dear Ursula, I seem to remember that you refused my invitation to the theatre yesterday evening on the grounds that you would be bored and would much prefer the Shaws' company.'

  `That's quite different. It's a boring play, from all accounts, and why should I have to spend a tedious evening when I might be having fun?'

  `Why, indeed? Do you find me tedious, Ursula?' He was watching her under lowered lids.

  She pouted and said in a wheedling tone, 'Well, you are rather dull, darling. You still haven't told me who she was.'

  `I don't intend to tell you, Ursula Shall we go to the drawing-room for coffee?'

  Her face became ugly with temper. 'I'm going, and I hope you'll be sorry for being so beastly to me and don't think you can get round me with a stupid bunch of flowers.'

  She flounced into the hall, and Dodge, looking

  suitably grieved, opened the door for her and bade her goodnight in a doleful voice before going off to his kitchen, where he fell to whistling cheerfully while he collected the plates and cutlery ready for the daily woman to clean when she came in in the morning. Very satisfactory, he decided. Now it only needed a bit of luck...

  Which, as it turned out, was by no means as unlikely at it seemed. It was a Saturday afternoon and Trottie and Peter had gone to the village shop, leaving Eulalia at home, writing careful answers to the offers of work in the local weekly paper. They didn't intend to buy much: a tin of corned beef—Trottie was clever at serving it up in a hundred and one different guises—dog food, cat food and, since it was the weekend, Peter had his pocket-money to spend. Fifty pence a week wasn't much but he laid it out carefully, and Mrs Trusk, who owned the shop, allowed him to take his time deciding between fruit-gums and humbugs. She wasn't busy, anyway, and she and Trottie had plenty to gossip about.

  He made his choice, and Trottie moved away from the counter, caught her foot on the corner of a box of oranges and fell. She was a stout little person and fell hard. Peter had rushed to help her up but she put out a shaking hand. 'No, love—leave me—I've hurt my leg.' She gave him a lop-sided smile and fainted.

  Mrs Trusk, bending over Trottie, said unnecessarily, 'She's fainted. Oh, dear, whatever shall we do?'

  `Ring the doctor,' said Peter, 'and get a glass of water.' He picked up one of Trottie's hands. `Trottie—it's all right, we'll look after you.'

  His voice quavered a bit; he was, after all, only eight years old, despite his efforts to be calm, like his idol Mr van Linssen.

  Trottie opened her eyes. 'I know you will, ducks—don't let anyone move me.'

  The doctor was on his rounds and his wife didn't know where exactly. By then several people had gathered round. 'Ring the ambulance,' said Mr Wedge and then, 'Someone get a cushion for Miss Trott's head.' He looked around him. 'And someone fetch Miss Lally.'

  Peter slipped behind the counter again and went to the phone. Glad that he had Mr van Linssen's phone number, he dialled it, and when someone answered he said in a rush, 'I must speak to Mr van Linssen, it's very important. Tell him it's Peter.'

  He sighed gustily when the well-remembered voice said in his small ear, 'Peter, what's wrong? Can I help?'

  `It's Trottie, she's fallen down and she can't get up because of her leg and the doctor isn't here. They've sent for an ambulance but it's got to come from Cirencester and someone's gone to fetch Aunt Lally...' He paused on an indrawn breath, determined not to cry but wanting to very badly.

  `Good man. You did quite right to ring me. Now, listen very carefully. I am going to get into my car

  and drive to Cirencester. It so happens that I have a good friend there. He'll allow me to take a look at Trottie and do anything that's necessary. Lally will have to go with Trottie. I want you to find Mr Wedge and ask him to go with you to the cottage and stay there until I come. I shall have Dodge with me and he will stay with you as long as it is necessary. I should be with you in a couple of hours. There's no need to tell Lally; she has enough to worry about. Tell her you'll be quite all right until she gets home. Have you got all that, Peter?'

  `Yes, Mr van Linssen. I knew you'd come.'

  He put the receiver back and joined the group around Trottie. Eulalia was kneeling beside her now, holding her hand and talking to her in a quiet voice, and above the babel of voices was the raucous singsong of the ambulance. Peter touched Eulalia on the arm. 'You'll go with Trottie?' he asked. 'I'll be all right until you get home.'

  But someone must stay with you.'

  `I'll get Mr Wedge—I know he will.'

  Eulalia nodded. 'That's splendid of you, Peter. Look, stay here with Trottie while I run back and get her overnight things. She may need to stay in hospital.' She gave his small shoulder a squeeze and darted away, and by the time the paramedics had Trottie on a stretcher, her leg tenderly encased in a plastic splint, she was back again.

  `Go home with Mr Wedge, darling, and stay indoors. The key's on the hook. I should be back soon

  after tea, but you get a meal if you're hungry, and feed Blossom and Charlie.' She gave him a quick hug. 'Bless you, Peter.'

  There was no time for more. He watched the ambulance drive away and then went home. Mr Wedge went with him, a comforting arm around his small shoulders. 'There's bound to be some news quite soon, and I'll stay just as long as I'm needed.'

  The cottage was very quiet. Mr Wedge made some tea and cut some bread and butter. Peter, with his mouth full, explained about Dodge.

  `Now that's a grand idea. Nice chap, is he, this Dodge?'

  `Oh, yes, Mr Wedge. He looks after Mr van Linssen.'

  Mr Wedge, his mind set at rest, poured the tea.

  Dodge was in the kitchen, preparing a béchamel sauce with which to coat the chicken he was preparing for that evening's meal—to be served earlier than usual, since Mr van Linssen was to escort his Ursula to some late evening function or other. He was quite unprepared for his master's sudden appearance.

  `Ah, Dodge. Leave everything, pack two overnight bags, one for me, one for you. Ten minutes— you can have ten minutes.'

  `Sir,' said Dodge in a pained voice.

  `Yes, yes. I'll explain as we go. Now hurry, there's a good chap.'

  Something in Mr van Linssen's voice made him do exactly that; within ten minutes he was coming down the stairs at twice his usual stately pace, a bag in each hand. A minute later he was sitting beside Mr van Linssen, listening to that gentleman's quiet voice explaining. Dodge had never looked anything other than melancholy all his life but now he allowed himself a smile. Here was a bit of luck, unless he was mistaken.

  `Miss Kendall,' he ventured. 'You were to attend a function with her.'

  `Oh, lord, yes. Dodge, pick up the phone and ring her now. Tell her that I'm called away on an urgent case.'

  Dodge listened unmoved to Ursula's cross voice, expressed his regret and put the phone back. After that they didn't speak. The motorway was fairly empty: the weekenders had already gone and the evening traffic wouldn't start up for another two or three hours. Mr van Linssen sped along the fast lane and Dodge prayed that there would be no police patrols about.

  They were nearing Cirencester when Mr van Linssen finally spoke. 'Dodge, I'll
drop you off at Ivy Cottage. See to the boy, won't you? Get a meal if it's needed. I'll probably drive Miss Warburton back later, when we know what the damage is.'

  He turned off the motorway and took the road to Malmesbury, and presently drove slowly through Brokenwell and stopped at Ivy Cottage. They both

  got out and Peter saw them from the window, and the next moment he had unlocked the door. He said in a small voice, 'I knew you'd come,' and Mr van Linssen put a great arm around him and turned to shake Mr Wedge's hand.

  `Many thanks. I'm grateful,' he said quietly, and then, to Peter, 'Well, of course, friends help friends, you know, and how splendid of you to know what to do. I've brought Dodge with me. He's going to stay here while I go and see how Trottie is. He'll stay here tonight too, so if I don't bring your aunt Lally back by bedtime, you go to bed as usual.'

  Peter nodded. 'All right, but you'll tell me if anything's wrong?'

  `At once. That's a promise. Now I'm off. Tot

  ziens.'

  `What does that mean?' asked Peter, as he and Dodge went back into the cottage, after waving goodbye to him and to Mr Wedge.

  `See you later,' said Dodge. 'Now, how about us doing some cooking when we've had a cup of tea? I'm a dab hand at it.'

  Eulalia sat by Trottie in the ambulance, holding her hand. Trottie's face was pale and her eyes were closed, but now and again she opened her eyes and smiled. 'Silly me,' she whispered. 'Ought to know better at my age.'

  Eulalia murmured in a comforting voice, 'Mrs

  Trusk leaves boxes all over the shop. Don't worry, Trottie, we'll have you home again in no time at all.'