by Betty Neels
‘I’ll take Mother’s up,’ she said in a voice slightly louder than usual. ‘Don’t wait for me, will you? I want to make sure that she eats it. I’ll have something with Jim when he comes in.’ She gave her father a speaking glance. ‘I’m not hungry.’
An explanation to which her father listened in some surprise; Mrs Dobbs was eating very well, she certainly needed no encouragement, and for his daughter to declare that she wasn’t hungry was so unusual that he realized that something or someone had upset her badly. Not the young man at present bearing him company, he was sure of that, more likely that Dutch chap, to whom he had taken an instant liking. He replied with fatherly diplomacy, told her not to hurry herself on their account and addressed himself to the task of making conversation with the young man his dear daughter had foisted upon him. He served the stew and put a few leading questions, sufficient to start Anthony off on a self-satisfied eulogy of himself, which left Doctor Dobbs in the happy position of being able to think his own thoughts while making an occasional comment.
Mrs Petts brought in the upside-down pudding and then shuffled back presently with their coffee, which Doctor Dobbs swallowed hastily, with the comment that he had an afternoon surgery and would have to get started on it. ‘Measles, you know,’ he told his companion, ‘quite an epidemic—we’ve had our hands full—still have. Sorry I can’t spare the time to stay for a chat.’ He rose from his chair. ‘Alexandra won’t be down for some time; she gets her mother back to bed for a rest about now and stays upstairs to read to her. Shall I say your good-byes for you?’
And Anthony was only too glad to agree; Alexandra hadn’t minced matters with him; it was extraordinary, but she really didn’t seem to like him—she hadn’t seemed to like that Dutchman either, although there was a doubt at the back of his mind about that. He took his leave, already thinking rather smugly of the new Casualty Sister at St Job’s—not a pretty girl, couldn’t hold a candle to Alexandra, but she thought him pretty super. He got into his car and drove back on to the main road; if he went up to Yeovil he could get on to the London road and be in London in time to take her out for the evening—a little dinner, perhaps, nothing too expensive; he had his future, his brilliant future, to consider.
Doctor Dobbs took the stairs two at a time and entered his wife’s bedroom circumspectly, not sure how he would find his daughter. She was sitting by the window, reading aloud from the woman’s page of the Telegraph, her voice so very bright and cheerful that he looked warily at her and then cocked a silent eyebrow at his wife, who gave him a warning look before wanting to know if their guest had gone.
‘Yes—he wanted to get back to London,’ said the doctor vaguely. ‘Funny sort of chap, full of himself, too—never had such a dreary meal. I wish that other—what’s his name?—could have stayed, I liked him. He had to go back to Holland, he told me. I asked him if he wouldn’t like an hour or two’s rest first, but he seemed to think nothing of it. Nice car, too.’ He cast a stealthy glance at Alexandra and turned his attention once more to his wife. ‘A Rolls.’ He strolled to the window and looked out. ‘I thought you said he was a struggling GP, Alexandra?’
Her voice was wooden. ‘I thought he was. It wasn’t until we were in Holland…he’s something big in anaesthetics, I believe—he seems to travel around quite a bit.’
‘Does he now? Ah, well, you’ll probably meet him again.’
Alexandra got up, casting the newspaper down in an untidy muddle on the floor, and made for the door. ‘No, I shan’t,’ she exclaimed forcefully, ‘not ever again!’
Her parents listened to her hurtling downstairs and the subsequent slam of the kitchen door. ‘What happened?’ asked Doctor Dobbs.
His wife shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I heard them—not that other silly fellow, but Alexandra and the Dutchman, they sounded as though they were having a nice healthy row, and then you walked in, my dear. Not that it would have made much difference, I imagine. Has he really gone? I mean, back to Holland?’
‘Oh, yes. He told me that he was very glad to have met me, and asked me to convey his respects to you—those were his very words.’
Mrs Dobbs smiled slowly. ‘How nice—old-fashioned, but nice. He’ll keep Alexandra in order,’ she added in a tone of satisfaction.
Her husband smiled at her tolerantly. ‘My dear love, you heard what she said—they’re not going to meet again.’
‘Oh, pooh,’ said Mrs Dobbs, looking very like her daughter. ‘I feel much better, you know. I shall start pottering tomorrow.’
She gave her husband an innocent look which caused him to say at once: ‘Now look, darling, there’s nothing you can do.’
‘Why, I shouldn’t dream of such a thing,’ she replied meekly.
She was as good as her word: within the next few days she gently but inexorably took back the reins of the household into her own hands, so that Alexandra found herself with almost nothing to do and reluctantly sat down to fill in the various forms she had been sent in reply to her inquiries concerning a job. There was one, in Western Australia, which seemed to match her unhappy mood exactly. She was putting a stamp on the envelope when she heard a car draw up outside the house and despite herself, went to the window to see who it was. Hope, she had discovered during the last few unhappy days, dies hard.
It was the Morris 1000, with Miss Thrums, looking exactly the same as she always did, at the wheel.
Alexandra flung open the door as she came up the path and ran to meet her. ‘Oh, how very nice to see you,’ she cried, and meant it. Wasn’t this Taro’s aunt, someone who had surely seen him recently. ‘I never thought we’d meet again. Are you on holiday? Can you spend the night? Mother and Father would love you to stay, I know. Come in.’
Miss Thrums beamed at her, her sharp eyes taking in the white, tired face.
‘Dear child, how nice to see you again, too, and I shall be delighted to meet your parents.’ She allowed herself to be ushered into the house and thence to the sitting-room where Mrs Dobbs was dozing before the fire. But she was instantly awake when she heard who the visitor was; Alexandra left the two ladies, surprisingly at ease with each other, and went to put the kettle on.
It was early for tea, but the afternoon was grey and cold and she had made some scones that morning; she carried in the tray and set it down beside her mother’s chair, dispensed the tea-cups and the scones and went to sit on the floor by the fire.
‘I was telling your mother,’ began Miss Thrums, ‘that I have come to ask a favour of her. I could have written, but knowing that she had been so poorly I felt it right that I should first see for myself just how she was. I’m happy to find that her progress has been so rapid, for now I feel emboldened to ask if I might take you back with me, Alexandra—just for a short time. I don’t know what your plans are for the future, but I imagine that you might spare a week—that is if you would like to come? I’ve only been back from Holland for a few days, you know, and I find myself very lonely. I thought you would cheer me up if you could bear with my company—while you’re waiting for a job.’
Alexandra put down her tea-cup. Miss Thrums did indeed sound lonely, but she had to be sure of something first. ‘You’re quite alone, Miss Thrums?’ she asked, carefully nonchalant.
‘Quite alone, child. I drove the Morris back on my own this time. Taro has been so very busy—here, there and everywhere, almost never at home— I hardly liked to suggest that he should come back with me.’ She looked at Mrs Dobbs. ‘My nephew lectures a lot—all over the place.’ She looked vague. ‘Germany, I believe, or was it Austria, this time?’
It was Mrs Dobbs who spoke. ‘Alexandra hasn’t had much fun here,’ she observed, ‘running the house and cooking and cleaning and looking after me.’
‘You might go doing too much if I went,’ said Alexandra. Her voice was wistful although she didn’t know it; if Taro was so far away, just to be with Miss Thrums, who loved him, would be better than nothing.
‘I promise you I won’t, love.’
Alexandra got up to cut the cake. ‘I’d love to come, Miss Thrums—just for a week or so until you’ve stopped feeling lonely; it will be a week or two before I hear from the different hospitals I’ve applied to. When do you want me to come?’
Miss Thrums was looking down at her plate so that the little smile on her face went unseen. ‘How about coming back with me?’
‘That would be fine—but not today, surely?’
‘Of course not,’ protested her mother. ‘You’ll stay the night, Miss Thrums, my husband will be delighted to meet you—you could go tomorrow morning, perhaps?’
The two older ladies agreed on this before returning to their tea and pleasant small talk which held no word of Taro, and presently Alexandra went away to make up the bed in one of the guest rooms, bearing the tea-tray with her, and only when her footsteps had died away down the passage did Mrs Dobbs say with deep satisfaction: ‘You have no idea how delighted I am that you’ve come, Miss Thrums. There are one or two things I should like to know…’
They left the next morning with Alexandra driving, for as Miss Thrums so sensibly remarked, she was by far the better driver of the two of them, especially on the motorway. ‘We can get as far as Basingstoke and take the Reading road,’ she explained, ‘and then go through High Wycombe and Hemel Hempstead, then I can drive, for I shall be on familiar ground then.’
They did as she suggested, stopping for lunch at a small village inn and then pressing on. Miss Thrums was a good driver although surprisingly reckless at times, and Alexandra, who wasn’t at all bad herself, was surprised at the speed at which they travelled, probably due, she told herself, to Miss Thrums’ whimsical habit of talking to her motorcar.
‘You must forgive me, my dear,’ said that lady, disconcertingly reading her thoughts, ‘but the elderly are allowed to be a little eccentric, you know. Taro always refers to my peculiarities as my venerable foibles, which makes them sound quite normal, doesn’t it?’
Alexandra laughed and her companion said instantly: ‘Ah—how nice to hear you laugh, child. You have become very serious since I last saw you. Probably you have been anxious about your mother.’
‘Yes, Miss Thrums.’
‘A nasty infection, measles, especially when one is older.’ She went on as though she hadn’t changed the subject: ‘I wonder if Taro found Penny?’
‘Found Penny?’ Alexandra heard her voice falter although she tried to keep it steady. ‘Why?’
‘He wished to make it quite clear to her that she was wasting her time—and everyone else’s—by trying to make trouble for other people. He intended to suggest, I believe, that she should remove herself to some remote part of the world where she would have no chance to make a nuisance of herself.’
‘He can’t do that—besides, he did believe her, but…’
She wasn’t allowed to continue. ‘Why, here we are, almost home,’ interrupted Miss Thrums. ‘I’ll drop you off and go on to collect Sambo and Rover. Will you put the kettle on, my dear, and we will have a little meal and a nice chat.’
So Alexandra had to contain her patience until the fire had been lighted, the table set before it and laid with what her hostess called high tea, and only when the animals had been fed did they sit themselves down cosily one each side of the bright fire and then it was that Miss Thrums went on, just as though she had never stopped: ‘Of course Taro didn’t believe her, Alexandra—no man with his wits about him would have done so. Remember her history and the circumstances leading up to her return to England. Granted, he was as enraged as any man might be on hearing that the girl he loved had been seen only hours after she had taken leave of him, apparently about to take a trip with another man—but if he had stopped to think…but of course he was far too angry for that, and to make matters worse, he was quite unable to go and find out for himself—work, you know. It was a great pity that he should meet that young man. I heard all about it.’ She paused to pour second cups. ‘Two such unpleasant days, during which he was unendingly civil and addressed me as Aunt Euphemia, ate almost nothing and flung himself into his work with quite unnecessary vigour. I told him on the third day that I intended to return home, and I am not sure if he really heard me. True, he wished me good-bye and said all the right things, but I don’t think that my departure made any impression on him.’
Alexandra cracked a brown egg. ‘Oh, he must have known—he’s very fond of you.’
‘Yes, my dear—I know. He’s very fond of you too, although I believe that to be an understatement.’
Alexandra spooned her egg carefully, because her hand was shaking a little. ‘He’s nothing of the sort,’ she declared strongly. ‘He—he rushed in and he was so nasty—you know what I mean; his mouth was a thin line and he looked at me as though I wasn’t there, and he laughed…’
‘He has a very nasty temper,’ agreed Miss Thrums in a soothing voice, ‘although he seldom loses control of it, and it has been my experience that the angrier he is the more arrogant and cold he becomes. His father has a nasty temper too, but my sister could always calm him down—just as you will with Taro, child.’
Alexandra choked over her bread and butter. ‘Miss Thrums, you don’t understand. He—he doesn’t want to see me again—he just walked out. I did ask him to stay to lunch,’ she explained like a hurt child. ‘He was so dreadfully polite; if he’d sworn at me or shouted, I might have thought…though I had no reason to really.’ She drank some tea and said in a tight voice: ‘Would you mind if we don’t talk about him?’ She added in a more determined manner: ‘I’ve written about a job in Western Australia—it sounds rather interesting.’
Miss Thrums might be elderly; she was wise too. She said at once: ‘I was there for a while when I was a girl—a sheep station outside Perth, I was engaged to the man who owned it. A strange country, but wonderful too. I could have made it my home.’
‘But you didn’t?’ Alexandra prompted gently.
‘He was killed during the war—in Italy. I came back here and picked up the pieces of my life, and Taro’s mother helped me. Taro was quite a little boy then, but we had a great affection for each other, even then. His sisters are nice people too, but Taro is my favourite.’
She took a slice of cake. ‘I’m sorry, Alexandra, we weren’t going to talk about him—you must forgive me.’ She stretched her sensibly shod feet to the fire. ‘What shall we do tomorrow?’
Their days were nicely filled; little shopping trips, walks with the dog, the rector to entertain to tea, books to fetch from the travelling library when it came to the village. And these small, restful pursuits soothed Alexandra. Her face was still without colour and there were shadows under her eyes, but she was cheerful again, at least in company, and if Miss Thrums, who had sharp ears, heard muffled sobs during the night, she took care not to mention the fact. But after a week, on the day that Alexandra had a letter asking her to go for an interview for the job in Australia, she was sent down to the village to fetch the eggs, and when she was safely out of the way Miss Thrums went to the sitting-room, sat down at her desk, and drew the telephone towards her.
It was cold and grey the next morning, as it had been for several days, but at least it wasn’t raining, and the wind, although a snarling monster from the east, would be splendid for drying; Alexandra declared herself ready to do the washing and when Miss Thrums protested, pointed out that they might have to wait days for blue skies and sunshine, and taking a load into the washerette in Needham Market would mean hanging about for it—besides, she added in a wheedling tone, she felt like it. And Miss Thrums, recognizing the therapeutic benefits of hard work, gave in gracefully.
So Alexandra retired to the little washhouse attached to the kitchen, and began her self-imposed task. She emerged some time later, an old raincoat of Miss Thrums’ tied round with string round her waist over her dress, her feet thrust into far too large Wellingtons. She had a basket of washing balanced between her arms and trod carefully across the garden to its end, where the clothes
line stood. She wasn’t happy, but having something to do made her feel better. She dumped the basket and started on the task of hanging the things out.
She had a neat row of flapping towels and a sheet in her hands when she looked up and saw Taro. He was standing quite close, so that she could see that he was wearing the shabby tweeds and a massive sheepskin jacket over them; she took in these details in a dream-like fashion and then closed her eyes, sure that she was only imagining something which she so much wanted to be true. The wind blew an extra strong gust just then, tearing her hair from its pins so that it spilled around her shoulders and covered her face. She pushed it impatiently out of her eyes and took another look. He was there all right, and even nearer now.
He said in a strong voice, because of the wind, ‘My adorable Miss Dobbs,’ and smiled at her, which so agitated her that she stammered a little. ‘Don’t call me that.’
He took another step towards her and took the wet sheet from her hands and flung it carelessly over the line, and deliberately misunderstanding her: ‘Then I won’t; I have never thought Miss Dobbs suited you—for my part I would prefer it to be changed to Mevrouw van Dresselhuys.’
The wind was blowing a gale now, bringing with it a few drops of icy rain; the sheet, so carelessly flung, flapped wildly off the line and on to the recently turned earth of the kitchen garden, where it lay, very muddy. Alexandra looked at it, dismissed it as unimportant and said quietly: ‘I thought I would never see you again.’
If she had put out a hand, she could have touched him.
‘How would that be possible, my darling, when I love you more than anything else in this world?’ He pulled her into his arms, stroking the wet hair away from her face.
‘I thought you loved Penny…’ She spoke into the rough warmth of his jacket.
‘Never, dear darling. I pitied her, of course, but did you not also pity her? And I felt amusement at her antics as she recovered, until a faint suspicion that she wasn’t quite what we thought she was—nothing she said or did, not at first, just a warning bell in the back of my mind—and all the while I was thinking about you and not admitting it to myself. Even when I arranged for her to stay with Aunty I refused to acknowledge that I was doing it largely so that I might keep you close to me. Only on that morning—that cobweb morning, you remember?—I finally admitted that there was no one else for me—only you. I very nearly told you.’
