by Betty Neels
‘I must thank you, Matron, for your presence of mind and courage—it could have been a serious accident, even tragedy. After discussion it has been agreed that the boy has been sufficiently punished, and I hope that you concur. I shall of course speak very severely to those boys who caused him to take such a drastic course.’
‘Good—I detest bullies, and he’s only a little boy and he showed plenty of pluck.’
‘So Doctor van Zeilst assured me.’
She couldn’t resist asking: ‘He’s a friend of yours, Headmaster? I mean, it seemed so strange to see him here, it’s rather off the beaten track…’
‘So he himself observed. No, Matron, I have not had the pleasure of meeting the doctor before. A fine man, if I may say so.’
She hoped that he was going to say more than that, and looked at him encouragingly, but he merely smiled, remarked that he didn’t wish to detain her and got to his feet once more, a sign that the interview was over.
There was plenty to keep her busy that evening. She had supper with Miss Maggs, who didn’t mention the doctor once but talked a great deal about Eloise’s departure, something Eloise didn’t much want to discuss. Once she had left the school she would have severed the last slender link with Timon—a good thing; general opinion had always had it that a clean break was the thing. But it wasn’t. She had done that once and what good had it done? The moment she had set eyes on Timon getting out of his car she had come alive again.
She sorted sheets after supper, dosed one or two boys with colds, peeped in on the sleeping Smith Secundus and took herself off to bed, where she was at last able to cry her eyes out in peace and quiet.
She was to leave, it was decided in the morning, in two days’ time. Everyone had been very nice, had praised her lavishly for her part in rescuing Smith Secundus, wished her a pleasant future, and beyond Miss Maggs, had shown no further interest. That lady, however, made up for that by displaying a lively curiosity as to where she would go. ‘I know you came here on a temporary basis,’ she observed, ‘and of course, it’s none of my business, but have you another post to go to?’
Eloise shook her head. ‘Well, no—I thought perhaps I’d have a short holiday and then perhaps go abroad for a while.’
Her companion gave her a shrewd look and said nothing to this, so Eloise felt bound to add: ‘I’ve always thought I should like to…’
‘Australia?’ queried Miss Maggs, ‘it’s a long way away, but I hear from all counts that there are excellent prospects there. You hadn’t thought of getting married, I suppose?’
Eloise gave her a goaded glare; she had thought of nothing else, quite pointlessly, for some weeks now. ‘No, I haven’t.’ She put down the neat pile of shirts she had been folding. ‘Shall I go along and take young Adams’ temperature? He looked feverish to me this morning when he reported a cold—I thought I’d look him over for spots.’
‘A sensible suggestion,’ agreed her senior, ‘half term, you know, a week or so ago, and if there’s anything catching about, you may be sure one of the boys will bring it back with him.’
Adams, a small, plump boy with spiky hair and round blue eyes, had a temperature, he had spots, too. Eloise cast a professional eye over him, reported her findings to Miss Maggs with the observation that it looked like chickenpox to her, and set about transferring the patient to the isolation ward and telephoning the school doctor.
The rest of the day was nicely taken up with this exercise and the careful scrutiny of any small boys who had been in contact with the victim; there were any number of them, but they all looked, for the moment at least, remarkably healthy. Miss Maggs, over their evening cup of tea, expressed the fervent hope that Adams would be the only case, and that a light one.
He was well covered in spots by the following morning and a little pale and lethargic, but Doctor Blake pronounced himself quite satisfied with him, and left Eloise to make the boy comfortable for the day, observing as he went: ‘I hear that you are leaving us, Matron—I’m sure we shall all be sorry to lose you. I believe Miss Maggs has arranged for a nurse to take over tomorrow, if you would be good enough to keep an eye on him today.’
Eloise didn’t believe in beating about the bush; she went straight to Miss Maggs and asked: ‘Why don’t you want me to stay on, Miss Maggs? You know I haven’t a job to go to. I could have easily stayed another week, or at least until Adams is better, it would have made no difference.’
The Matron looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, dear, nothing would have pleased me more, but Dr Dean told me quite positively that arrangements had already been made and that you were to be free to go in the morning. In fact, I hear the nurse is arriving this afternoon, directly after lunch.’
Eloise felt quite bewildered. ‘Is she? But why…?’ and then, suddenly rather cross: ‘In that case she can take over straight away; it won’t take me a minute to pack and I can leave this afternoon just as easily as tomorrow. In fact, I could go now—this minute…’
Miss Maggs looked, if that were possible, even more uncomfortable. ‘Oh, I’m not sure…’
‘Well, I am. Someone could have told me—all this secrecy—if they want me away why didn’t they say so? Wild horses wouldn’t keep me here. For two pins I’d walk out this very minute!’
Her superior’s agitation was quite alarming. ‘Oh, my dear, don’t do that—at least…’ She glanced at the clock. ‘If you could just change Adams’ bed for him first—it wouldn’t take more than half an hour—and there are all those sheets and pillowcases… I’d do it, but I’ve all these forms to see to.’
Eloise was cross and hurt, but neither of these feelings had been caused by Miss Maggs. ‘Yes, of course I’ll do that,’ she promised, and put down her coffee cup. ‘All the same, I shall go just as soon as the nurse arrives.’
Miss Maggs made a soothing sound and looked at the clock again and when Eloise had taken herself off, allowed herself a sigh of relief.
Eloise had Adams sitting in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, and was smoothing the bottom sheet, when the door opened and Timon came in. At the sight of him her heart missed a beat, turned over and leapt into her throat so that the only sound she could manage was a small choking breath.
‘Hullo,’ said Timon, and smiled at her.
The smile played even more havoc with her heart, but she ignored that. ‘Have you had the chickenpox?’ she demanded in a severe voice. ‘This boy’s in isolation.’
He had strolled right into the little room, to lean against a wall and watch her. ‘I have indeed, abundantly, at the age of six.’
She had a sudden vivid picture of a small spotty Timon, probably refusing to stay in bed; he would have been a lively small boy… ‘Oh, well— Have you lost your way? Did you come to see the headmaster again?’
‘I came to see you, Eloise.’
Her heart did a somersault, but she replied coldly. ‘That’s too bad; I’m leaving in about half an hour.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed? I understood you to be going tomorrow morning.’
She began: ‘Well, I…’ and then: ‘How did you know that?’ She mitred the corners of the top blanket very precisely and invited the spotty Adams to jump back into bed.
‘Oh, I arranged it with the headmaster.’ His voice was bland. ‘Miss Maggs, however, had the good sense to telephone me and tell me your change of plans.’
‘You arranged it…you must be joking… I’ve never heard…’ she stopped to draw an indignant breath.
‘No, dear girl, I don’t joke about it; I don’t joke about something which matters to me more than anything else in the world. And of course you have never heard, for I have never told you, have I?’ He smiled at her with such tenderness that she went pink and then quite pale. ‘Is Adams now safely tucked up? Could he be left to his own devices for a little while?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But I have the sheets to put away. I said I would do that before I go.’
He held open the door without a word, waited while she
made sure that the invalid had all he wanted, and ushered her out into the passage.
‘The linen room,’ directed Eloise, strangely short of breath, ‘and really I can’t think why you should want to see me.’
She was brought to a standstill by the simple expedient of having her waist clamped by his two hands and then turned round to face him. But she would look no higher than his chin. ‘After all,’ she reminded him, ‘you walked off without…’ her voice became indignant at the very remembrance of it. ‘You didn’t even ask how I felt.’ She glanced briefly up at his face, to encounter blue eyes which gleamed so brightly that she lowered her own in panic. ‘Besides,’ she went on, quite unable to stop herself now, ‘when I left Holland you didn’t m-mind—not in the least.’
‘Did I say that, my Pineapple Girl?’
She said a little pettishly: ‘No, you didn’t, you just looked down your nose at me.’
‘Shall I tell you what I really wanted to do?’ His voice was full of laughter and something else, so that she said hastily and much against her inclination: ‘No, I have to see to the sheets.’
He made no attempt to release her. ‘Damn the sheets,’ he observed mildly. ‘I’m sure that Miss Maggs will be delighted to deal with them; I’ve not come all this way to watch you count linen.’
Eloise wriggled a little and his hands tightened. ‘Well, why have you come?’
‘To marry you, of course.’
Her eyes flew to his and this time she didn’t lower them. ‘Marry…?’ she managed. ‘But you’ve not asked me.’ She added without conviction: ‘Besides, I don’t want to.’
He sighed loudly. ‘My darling love, is that true? I do hope not, for I have the licence in my pocket and the parson waiting.’
‘The parson…’ Eloise’s unremarkable features had assumed beauty as she assimilated this news; she felt a pleasant glow sweeping over her, but all the same she damped it down just for a moment. ‘I’ll not marry you until you explain about Liske. Besides, you let me go…’
He bent his head then and kissed her so that she really didn’t care about his answer, but presently he said: ‘I could hardly tell you that I loved you until I had made it quite clear to Liske that any feeling I had had for her was quite gone—and there never was much, you know, my dearest, and what little there was melted away when you fell in a heap at my feet and flung a pineapple at me.’ He kissed her again. ‘I told the Reverend Mr Culmer that we would be at the church by half past one.’
Eloise didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘But it’s long after twelve o’clock, and look at me…’
She shouldn’t have said that, for he wasted quite a few minutes doing just that before observing: ‘Very nice too, my darling, and something I shall never tire of doing.’
She gave his arm a little shake. ‘Timon, darling Timon, you don’t understand—I’m in uniform and I’ve got to pack and no one knows…it’ll take ages to explain…’
‘Don’t fuss, woman.’ He had stopped her by kissing her once more. ‘I’ve already explained—why do you suppose I wanted to see Dr Dean in the first place? And you can change in ten minutes. If you can’t pack in that time it really doesn’t matter; we can stop somewhere and get what you need.’
She blinked at him, smiling gloriously. ‘All right. You—you are sure, aren’t you?’ She wasn’t given the chance to say more than that, though. Presently she said in a voice muffled by his shoulder: ‘Will you tell me where we’re to be married and where we’re going?’
‘In the village church, of course—I arranged that yesterday. I was on the way to see the headmaster when I looked up and saw you. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life, dearest; to have found you and then to see you teetering wildly on the parapet far above my head.’ His blue eyes searched hers. ‘I died a dozen times before I reached you.’ He pulled her closer and pulled the cap off her head. ‘Such pretty hair. Once we’re married we’re going to drive over to Buttermere—they’re expecting us at the inn there—we can have a late lunch.’
‘Expecting us?’ asked Eloise sharply. ‘You were sure, weren’t you?’
He answered her placidly. ‘Yes, my darling, I was, just as you are sure—and we’ve wasted too much time already.’
‘I’m sorry, Timon, of course I’m sure. I’ve loved you for—oh, ever since I first saw you, I suppose. Are we going to stay at Buttermere?’
‘For a few days, then I’ll take you to Eddlescombe before we go back to Holland.’ He let her go reluctantly. ‘Go and put on something pretty while I go and thank Miss Maggs. I’ll wait for you there.’
She took rather less than the ten minutes Timon had given her; it was wonderful what one could do when one had a sufficiently good reason to do it. She was out of her uniform and into the green outfit, and had her hair and face done, her velvet tammy nicely arranged, well within that period, and time to spare to search for her best gloves and handbag, urged on by her happiness and excitement.
The rest of her packing was done in a careless manner which would have revolted her normally, but now nothing was normal; it was a dream come true, so wonderful that she couldn’t quite believe it.
The next few minutes was a confusion of goodbyes and good wishes which she hardly heard; nor did she realise that she was in the car until they were driving away, out into the narrow road which led to the village. But the dream became glorious reality when they walked side by side up the churchyard path and Timon opened the old, creaking door and took her hand in his and kissed her very gently. ‘This is where our life begins,’ he said tenderly.
She kissed him back, for she had no words.
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IMPRINT: eBook Betty Neels
ISBN: 9781460891643
TITLE: PINEAPPLE GIRL
First Australian Publication 2013
Copyright © 2013 Betty Neels
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. N.S.W., Australia 2067.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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