Felicity was glad that on stooping to enter the car her flushed face was hidden from Alaine and as the car threaded its way through the busy streets she was grateful for the privacy which her position behind afforded her. Neither of the other occupants of the car could see her and indeed she wondered whether they had not forgotten her presence. Guy Brenton had scarcely spoken since the moment Alaine had made her unexpected appearance. Felicity wondered uneasily whether being seated again in his own car, with Alaine by his side, just as it must have been on the fatal night of the accident, wasn’t arousing unpleasant memories.
“You don’t mind if we go via St. Albans, do you? I must pop into the studio for a moment, I’ve left my script there and there are one or two bits I want to study over the week-end.” Without awaiting a reply, Alaine went on, “I was lucky to get the time off, but then old Fettle is just putty in my hands, I’m able to do just what I like with him,” she boasted with a laugh.
“St. Albans is hardly on the route but—well, I suppose you’d better stop off there if you have to.”
Felicity thought Guy Brenton’s tone somewhat discouraging but it appeared to leave Alaine entirely unmoved and she had already turned the car resolutely towards the St. Albans road.
The busy streets had now been left behind and the car sped smoothly along the wide arterial road; the air was already fresher and the young trees planted symmetrically along each side of the highway were heavy with bud. “Quite comfy, Nurse?” Alaine threw the question over her shoulder at Felicity, then unheedful of any reply, went on to address Guy. “Do you realize, darling, that I’ve given up a film premiere tonight and a dance at the “Shalimar” tomorrow night so as to spend a week-end with you? I’m going to help Nurse look after you.” She gave a low, musical laugh. “I’ll let her do all the real nursing but it’s my turn now to hold the patient’s hand, stroke his forehead and do all those pleasant little things I’ve been barred from all the time you’ve been in hospital.”
“I assure you those are not a part of Nurse Dene s duties,” Guy Brenton interposed dryly. “Or if they were, then she must have failed lamentably in that part of her nursing.”
It was fortunate that the conversation was brought to an abrupt close by their arrival at the entrance of the Fettle Studios. Alaine slipped from the driving seat and with a promise not to be long, hurried through the tall, iron gates. It was not until she had disappeared from view behind one of the many buildings comprising the studios, that Guy Brenton, leaning his elbow on the back of his seat, twisted round to address Felicity.
“I hope you are comfortable there, that suit-case isn’t in your way, is it?”
“Gracious, no,” Felicity assured him, “The seat is wide enough for three, I’ve loads of room.”
As he twisted back again to his former position, Felicity was aware of a slowness in his movements and her brief view of his features had shown her a weariness which had not been present for some days now. That recent air of buoyancy had gone, he was slumped in his seat and following his conventional query to her comfort, had immediately reverted to his former silence. Of course it was his first outing, naturally he must be feeling the strain, perhaps she had been right, the familiarity of his own car had evoked memories—how much better if he had travelled as he had arranged. Felicity bit her lips with exasperation. The whole thing was wrong, deplorably wrong. He shouldn’t be waiting about here, miles off his route, but should have travelled direct and with the least possible delay.
It was, in fact, fully half an hour before Alaine reappeared, her script under her arm and brimming over with apologies. “I’m sorry—was I very long?—you know what it is—once I get into the place I’m just besieged with people—would I like this done or that?” She babbled on as she turned the car towards her ultimate destination.
Even the arterial road was left behind now and despite the misgivings which filled Felicity, she could feel joy flood her whole being as the sweeping fields flashed by on either side and on the horizon she could already see the rise and fall of the Chiltern Hills, purple in the distance.
“Let’s stop here for a cup of tea.” Without awaiting a reply, Alaine braked the car outside an attractive-looking road-house. “I don’t know about you people but I’m just parched, couldn’t go another yard without refreshment.”
Felicity’s objection was spontaneous, she hadn’t even paused to think. “Oh, no!—we should go straight on, it would be so much less tiring for Mr. Brenton.”
“It’s past four, Miss Jason certainly needs her tea—and I think I told you I will not tolerate any fussing.” Guy Brenton had already alighted and was now opening the car door for Alaine. The brief glimpse she had of his firmly set jaw gave her no encouragement to venture any further protest, she felt chilled at the undeserved rebuke and had no alternative but to follow the other two through the swing door into the tea lounge.
As they seated themselves she could not resist a surreptitious glance at her patient from beneath her curled lashes. He definitely looked drawn and tired, and although he was responding to Alaine’s ceaseless chatter it was obviously costing him some effort. Well, she’d been snubbed once and she wasn’t going to risk it again, so with a resigned shrug of indifference, Felicity peeled off her suede gloves and accepted the menu which Alaine was handing her.
“Just tea, please.”
“I’m having home-made scones, what about you Guy, darling? I’m sure you’ve been half-starved in hospital, better start making up now.” She turned to the waiter with one of her most cajoling smiles. “Tea please, and scones—nice and hot with lots and lots of butter—oh, and jam too,” she called after him as he turned to execute the order. “There now, it’s restful enough here, isn’t it? I don’t think driving without a stop is good for anyone—and you a nurse, too, why, I thought all nurses lived on cups of tea.”
Ignoring the sally, Felicity spoke with a calm she was far from feeling. “We have been on the road since two, I thought Mr. Brenton might have preferred to get home and have tea quietly there.”
“He is all right, aren’t you, darling?” Alaine laid her hand with the bright varnished nails on his sleeve. “I knew that you’d enjoy a stop, that’s why I suggested it,” she ended complacently.
To Felicity the arrival of tea caused a welcome break, but Alaine, who never seemed lost for words, kept the conversational ball rolling long after their cups were emptied and the plate of scones well depleted. Felicity found it difficult to hide her irritation at the unnecessary delay. Why on earth couldn’t they get the bill and move on?
At last they were back in the car, but a dull sense of frustration still filled Felicity to the exclusion of all else. She no longer had eyes for the undulating country through which they were passing, her one urge was to reach their destination.
At long last the car wound its way up a drive and stopped before a large white stone house. Felicity’s first impression was of dazzling whiteness against the profusion of green which formed its background. The curved steps leading to the balustraded terrace, which was supported by Corinthian columns, widened out to a sweeping arc as they reached the gravelled drive.
The interior seemed dark as they left the sunlight, but Felicity was aware of a stately hall of forbidding dignity and a wide oak stairway leading to a gallery above.
The man-servant who had admitted them stepped back as a tall figure rose from an arm-chair beside the log fire and advanced with hands outstretched in welcome, The likeness to Guy Brenton was too marked for Felicity to have any doubt as to relationship of the two men; although the older man was now white-haired, the brown eyes beneath bushy brows were the replica of his son’s. Despite his years and his height, he held himself well and there was something of a military bearing in the squared set of his shoulders.
After greeting his son he turned a kindly smile to Alaine. “Well, my dear, I’m glad to see you, you are nearly a stranger, it’s been so long since we’ve had the pleasure of your company.”
“This is Nurse Dene, Father,” Guy Brenton interrupted. “She has been looking after me the past weeks and has come down for a few days to complete the job. Nurse, this is my Father, Colonel Brenton.”
“Then you are very welcome.” The old man grasped Felicity’s hand warmly in his own. “I can imagine just how much help you have been to my son.”
Felicity murmured her appreciation of the remark, then was forced to silence by Alaine’s eager flow of words. “I certainly haven’t been down for ages, but I’ve been so busy—Guy must have told you—I’ve got the lead in Fettle’s new film. We’ve nearly finished shooting now, we’re on the last scenes but I’ve been kept at the studio all day and half the night, it’s the most exhausting work—you’ve no idea! I’m worn out, I couldn’t have gone on another moment, I’d have had a nervous breakdown.” She gave a low laugh. “I threatened them with that—that soon did the trick! Believe me they can’t afford to have me ill, so I’ve wrangled a few days off to come down here and look after Guy.” She slipped her arm affectionately round Guy Brenton’s waist as he stood at her side. “You go up to your room, don’t bother to change tonight, it’s hardly worth it, but hurry down again, darling, and then you’ll have time to give me a drink before dinner.”
With a sudden burst of courage, born of her still smouldering resentment, Felicity spoke. So involuntary was the protest that she was surprised by her own temerity. “Mr. Brenton will not be coming down again this evening, he will get straight to bed and dine quietly in his room.”
Guy Brenton had already turned towards the stairway before she had spoken, she could not even be sure that he had heard her words. Alaine seemed for once stunned into silence, but as Colonel Brenton looked at her there was no mistaking the deliberate wink of one eye beneath the shaggy brow and the twinkling smile of understanding which accompanied it. That momentary glance told Felicity without doubt that whatever difficulties she might have to face at Weir Court, in the Colonel she had found a staunch and faithful ally.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Guy Brenton had walked up the stairway so slowly that by the time he had turned down a narrow gallery flanking one side of the wide hall, Felicity was already close behind. She was aware of a moment’s indecision as he flung open the door of one of the rooms and made to enter. It was doubtless his bedroom and she found herself wondering whether as his nurse, she entered to offer what assistance she could or—in her present position—did she await an invitation! Perhaps, after all, Matron had been right, there was more to being a private nurse than she had believed, it was a pity she had not listened more carefully to her instructions, although she still wondered whether they would have dealt with circumstances exactly like these. Throwing discretion to the winds, Felicity firmly and deliberately followed on Guy Brenton’s heels, allowing him no chance of closing the door in her face.
The room was so austerely formal with its thick pile carpet and heavy antique furniture that, despite its mellowed beauty, it seemed to Felicity quite awe-inspiring, but the bright log fire burning in the open grate supplied a pleasant warmth, and a deep armchair drawn up before the blaze looked homely and inviting. With a confidence she was far from feeling she walked directly past Guy Brenton, who still stood within the doorway, and crossed to the fire.
“It’s quite chilly now, it’s lovely to see a fire.” She held out her hands towards the flames, then, since her statement had brought no reply, she went on, “Shall I pull the curtains, it will help to warm the room and it’s already quite dusk.”
“Do as you like.” The words were ungracious and as she held out her hand to take his overcoat which he was removing, he entirely ignored the gesture and flung it carelessly across the foot of the bed.
Turning way, Felicity crossed to the tall windows. For a moment she paused as if reluctant to shut out the afterglow of sunset which still bathed the hills and valleys in a golden haze and edged the clouds with a soft pink radiance. The sheer beauty of the evening filled her heart with joy, yet, underlying all, she was conscious of a deep sense of depression and uncertainty. If she had annoyed Guy Brenton with her highhanded action, then why didn’t he say so, subject her to some of his scathing criticism to which she was well accustomed? She could bear anything rather than this aloof silence. What a dismal end to all the high hopes with which she had started the day, how different it had all turned out from what she had fondly imagined, and she knew, without doubt, that Alaine Jason’s presence had proved the disturbing factor. The worst of it was that she couldn’t actually put into words Alaine’s failings, she had never by word or action been anything but charming, perhaps a little patronizing at times, but three years at St. Edwin’s had inured Felicity to that.
“Aren’t you going to pull the curtains?”
“Of course.” Recalling herself from her reverie, Felicity carefully drew the heavy brocade curtains across the window. Unconsciously playing for time, she carefully arranged the folds, then unable to find further evasion, turned to face her companion.
Guy Brenton was already seated in the arm-chair, his legs thrust out before him and his injured arm resting along the upholstered side of the chair. He leaned forward as she approached and with his left hand searched his pockets. “Seen my pipe anywhere, was it on me or did you pack it?”
“It’s in your suit-case—shall I unpack?”
“Just as you like—although Mackerley would do it later. I expect he is helping with the dinner at the moment—he is father’s old batman, wonderful chap, there is nothing he can’t turn his hand to.”
He was actually engaging her in conversation, that was at least a relief, but determined not to meet him half-way, Felicity resolutely maintained a silence while, acting on his grudgingly given permission, she commenced to unpack the suit-case, placing everything in its appropriate place. It was not until the task was finished and the empty suitcase stowed away at the back of the built-in cupboard, that she brought over his pipe. “Here it is, can you manage or shall I help you fill it?”
“O’Brien used to do it for me, I doubt if you can.”
“I expect I can manage as well as he, my father smoked a pipe, he lost three of his fingers in the war so I learned to do it for him.” Felicity spoke without any show of emotion as, packing the tobacco into the bowl, she carefully pressed it down. “Here are the matches, you can deal with those, can’t you?”
“Yes, thanks.” He took the proffered pipe and drew at it slowly as he applied a lighted match. “Don’t bother with me any more, don’t you want to go to your own room? If there is anything you want, just ring, I expect there is some kind of housemaid, but get hold of Mackerley if there is anything you seriously need.”
“Then I’ll find Mackerley now and ask him about your dinner-tray.” Felicity was by now indifferent to the storm which would probably burst over her head.
“As you like.”
The reply was so unexpectedly docile that Felicity had difficulty in concealing her amazement; to cover her surprise, she spoke quickly, and with an instinctive feeling that, if she wanted to get her way, this was a propitious moment to press her point. “Then I suggest you get into bed now, I’ve put your pyjamas and dressing-gown ready.”
“I’ll change in a moment, but I’m very comfortable sitting here.”
Felicity felt it might be unwise to argue, she’d achieved more than she’d dared hope and was content to let it rest at that. She placed his gown and slippers within easy reach, then turned to the door. “Have you any idea which room I’m in?”
“Next door—at least I noticed Mackerley taking your case in there, I suppose he felt the invalid might feel happier with his nurse close at hand.”
There was a note of sarcasm in his voice which brought the ready flush to Felicity’s cheek. He hadn’t spoken in these tones for so long now, and these last two days he had shown a marked degree of cheerfulness since she had managed to instil into him some of the confidence she herself possessed. With unflagging effort she had continu
ed surreptitiously to encourage him to use his fingers—more and more, until she knew that he too shared her optimism. Today everything had changed and she was right back where she had started, shut out and helpless, since, without his co-operation, how could she be of help?
The room allocated to Felicity was a smaller replica of the bedroom she had just left. Little seemed to have been done to Weir Court to bring it in line with the more modern type of country house and even the fitted basin looked incongruous, wedged between an antique tallboy and an enormous oak closet, which Felicity felt must surely date back to the Norman Conquest! The first impression was but short-lived, the strange room was quickly growing on her, its unfriendly air was already vanishing, and in its place she began to feel a sense of comfort as if the shining wood, mellowed with years of polish, held out its arms to her in understanding and welcome.
Felicity was glad to strip off her jacket and blouse and bathing her face and hands was certainly refreshing, but having completed the essential parts of her toilet, the vexed question arose as to what she was expected to wear! If only Diana had been there with her ready advice and reassuring manner. Alaine had said something about not dressing—goodness knows exactly what she’d meant by that. At home they had always changed at night, not into formal wear unless visitors had been expected, but certainly into some light garment which added to one’s relaxation at the end of the day. Felicity carefully inspected the choice at her disposal, then discarding them all, donned one of her freshly starched uniform dresses. She smiled to herself as she tucked a wave of hair beneath her starched cap. Sister wouldn’t be there to criticize so perhaps she need not be quite so discreet, she reminded herself as she pulled forward more hair behind each ear. Diana would be furious with her if she knew she was wearing uniform. Felicity imagined her friend’s reactions when she confessed her weakness, then, with a smile still dimpling the corners of her lips, she left the room, dosing the door gently behind her.
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