Last April Fair

by Betty Neels

  ‘Wouldn’t I? Get this clear, love, I’m a shy man, I don’t know a soul on board and I intend to cling to you like a limpet.’ He added: ‘During waking hours, of course.’

  He was teasing her, she knew that, so she laughed back at him.

  ‘Well, I don’t know anyone, either. Only you must tell me if I’m in the way.’ She grinned suddenly, at ease with him once more. ‘I saw the most gorgeous blonde just now—she really is lovely.’

  He lifted lazy lids and she blinked under his intent look. ‘I must chat her up, I’m partial to blondes. Do point her out.’

  ‘She doesn’t need pointing out,’ remarked Phyllida with something of a snap, ‘you’ll see her easily enough for yourself.’

  He didn’t answer her, only asked her what she would like to drink.

  They went down to tea presently and then played Bingo, getting very excited when they nearly won, and then going along to the shop to browse around, buying postcards she would never send and a huge tin of toffees for Willy, who would appreciate them far more than anything foreign and unedible.

  She was almost dressed when Pieter tapped on her door before dinner. ‘Come in,’ she called, ‘I’m trying to find an evening bag.’

  He sat down on her bed, watching her while she searched through the drawers and at length found what she wanted. He took up so much room in the cabin that it seemed to shrink as she stepped carefully backwards and forwards over his big feet before sitting down beside him to change things from one bag to the other.

  He watched her lazily. ‘You look very nice—we’ll dance later, shall we?’

  She nodded, finished what she was doing and got to her feet.

  ‘The bar, I think,’ he suggested, ‘but let’s go this way; I’ve an urge to play the fruit machines.’ He handed her a handful of silver. ‘Split fifty-fifty whoever wins.’

  Phyllida had never played before. She had wanted to on the voyage out, but she had never had enough time to herself—besides, she had been afraid that she might lose too much money. She won two pounds now and screamed with delight. ‘Here’s your money, and your half of the winnings. Now you have a go.’

  He won nothing and presently she cried: ‘Oh, do stop, you won’t have any money left—do have some of mine.’

  He declined. ‘My luck’s out—let’s go and have a drink, we can play later if we want to.’

  The bar was crowded, but they found seats in a corner and bent their heads over the next day’s programme. ‘I don’t think I’ll go to the keep fit class,’ said the doctor seriously, ‘and definitely not the fancy dress—how about deck quoits and a nice long lie in the sun doing nothing?’

  Phyllida agreed happily. And that was how they spent their days, swimming in the pool before breakfast, playing some deck game or other after breakfast and then lying side by side doing nothing, not even talking. Phyllida found it singularly restful; the sea was calm, even in the Bay of Biscay, and the weather stayed fine, although as they neared their journey’s end there was a decided nip in the air, which made sweaters a necessity, and when they got too chilly, Pieter pulled her to her feet and made her play table tennis. They danced each evening too; the only fly in the ointment was the blonde girl. They had a table for two in the centre of the restaurant and the girl was seated close by in the doctor’s direct line of vision. She was an eyeful, Phyllida decided vexedly on their first evening, and she couldn’t compete with the white crêpe dress, cut low and with a long gored skirt which twisted and twirled as the girl walked the length of the restaurant. She had piled-up hair, dressed in a careless riot of curls and crowned with a tiny cap sporting a curling feather which curved round one cheek—absurd on anyone else, but on this girl, devastating. The doctor had studied her at length and with no expression.

  ‘I told you I wouldn’t need to point her out,’ said Phyllida.

  He gave her one of his bland looks. ‘Oh, I do see exactly what you mean, love—she’s a knock-out.’

  She had agreed with chilly enthusiasm.

  As far as she knew, he hadn’t looked at the girl again that evening, nor the next morning. It was after lunch when he told her that he was going down to the purser’s office, and strolled away.

  He was still gone an hour later, and with nothing to do, she remembered that she had to press a dress for the evening. She was on her way to the ironing room when she saw them standing near the purser’s office, deep in conversation. The girl was leaning back against the wall, her hands on either side of her, pressed against it, a beguiling attitude calculated to show her figure off to the best possible advantage. She was looking up at the doctor with a look which Phyllida had often tried before her looking glass, without much success because she had always giggled. She sped on down to the deck below, sure that she hadn’t been seen, did her pressing and hurried back. They weren’t there when she reached the purser’s office.

  She hung up the pink crêpe—really it had been a waste of time fussing with it, the doctor wasn’t going to notice, was he? not with that creature making eyes at him—and bounced out of her cabin and back to the deck, to be waylaid at once by a young man with a lot of teeth and pebble glasses who asked her eagerly if she would like to use his binoculars. There was nothing to see, but she agreed with an enthusiasm which encouraged him to offer her a drink. It was nearly tea-time and not really warm enough for a cold drink, but he looked so anxious to please that she accepted a lemonade and stood at the rail with him, drinking it while he told her all about his job—something vague in the City.

  She wasn’t sure when she first felt that they were being watched; after a moment or two she looked round cautiously. Behind them, lying in a chair with his feet up, was the doctor. He grinned as she turned a shoulder to him.

  She finished the drink slowly, aware that it was four o’clock and everyone was going down to tea, and trying to decide whether she should stay where she was and wait for Pebble Glasses to invite her to share his table, or excuse herself, ignore the doctor, and have tea on her own.

  She knew that she was being childish and silly, which made it more difficult to decide. Luckily it was decided for her; the doctor tapped her smartly on the shoulder, smiled with charm at her companion and wanted to know if she was coming to pour his tea for him. Short of saying no, she wasn’t, there had been nothing she could do about it. Out of earshot of Pebble Glasses he had observed placidly: ‘Paying me back in my own coin, Phylly?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She tried to sound dignified, which was quite wasted on her companion, who sat her down in a quiet corner and fell to examining the plate of cakes on the table between them. Only when he had done this to his satisfaction had he said: ’empty as a hot air balloon.’ He looked at her, smiling faintly. ‘What a pity—such beauty, and nothing—just nothing between the ears.’ He sighed: ‘But I found it interesting from a medical point of view.’

  His voice was so silky that she shot him a suspicious glance. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  He hadn’t appeared to hear her. ‘Now you, love, have good looks and a good brain to go with them— you’ll make someone an excellent wife one day.’ He added wickedly. ‘Was Pebble Glasses all you could find?’

  It had been impossible to be grumpy with him after that.

  Phyllida packed with great regret before dinner on their final evening; she had been to the purser’s office and got herself a seat on the coach which would take any passengers who wished up toVictoria Station, but she hadn’t told Pieter. And he for his part hadn’t said a word. She supposed that they would say goodbye after an early breakfast and she would never know where he was going. Somewhere in England? Holland? She had no idea.

  They were watching a spirited entertainment after dinner when he said in a tone which brooked no denial: ‘I’ve arranged for a car to be at the dock. I’ll drive you home.’

  She had been surprised at the delight which swept through her.

  ‘But it’s miles away…’

  ‘Thre
e hours run at the outside.’

  ‘Well—but don’t you want to go home?’

  His smile told her nothing. ‘I’ve two or three days to spare, I should enjoy the drive.’

  Which really didn’t answer her question.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DISEMBARKING FROM the ship at Millwall Dock was smoothly efficient and swift. Phyllida found herself and her baggage on the road outside the dock with hundreds of others, only whereas they were getting on to a fleet of coaches, taxis or relatives’ cars, she had been led to a corner and told to stay there while Pieter went to look for his car. He was back inside five minutes, driving a Ford Scorpio, and long before the buses had revved up their engines he had stowed the luggage, popped her into the front seat, got behind the wheel and driven away.

  It was still barely nine o’clock in the morning and the traffic in the East End was dense; it got worse as they approached the city, but the doctor didn’t allow that to irritate him, he kept up a gentle flow of talk weaving in and out of the traffic unerringly so that presently Phyllida asked: ‘Do you know London well? You drive as though you did.’

  ‘I come here from time to time. I’m aiming for the M3, I think it’ll be best if we cut straight through, don’t you, and cross the river at Chiswick. We can stop in Richmond for coffee, and what about Salisbury for lunch? Isn’t there a place called the Haunch of Venison?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m sure Mother would give us a late lunch, there’s really no need…’

  He shot her a quick smile. ‘Oh, let’s have a last lunch together, shall we?—Perhaps your mother will be kind enough to invite me to tea.’

  It was while they were drinking their coffee in Richmond that Phyllida suddenly realised that she hadn’t thought of Philip for days. She looked across at the doctor, scanning the headlines of the Telegraph, and thought how nice it was that they could sit together like this without making conversation because they felt that they should. Every now and then he read out some item which he thought might interest her, but he made no special effort to capture her attention; he might have been her brother. She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed about this or not. Upon due reflection she thought not, for although they hadn’t known each other long they had an easy friendship, quite at ease with each other and enjoying each other’s company. But that was all; he had never shown any signs of interest in her as a person. Indeed, the blonde on board had come in for more attention…

  She frowned into her coffee. She wasn’t a vain girl, but she was aware that she had more than her share of good looks and although she had no sophistication to speak of, someone had told her once that she was a wholesome girl. She had quite liked it at the time, now she wasn’t so sure; she didn’t think that Pieter would be interested in wholesomeness—he had, she considered, an experienced eye. She sighed and he put the paper down at once. ‘Sorry—my shocking manners. Let’s go.’

  It began to rain as they started off again and by the time they got to Salisbury it was a steady downpour. But the Haunch of Venison was warm and welcoming; they ate roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and treacle sponge afterwards, and accompanied this nourishing meal with a bottle of claret. It was still raining when they got back into the car, and as they drove through the dripping countryside Phyllida felt a pang of disappointment that the first sight of her home should be marred by a grey, wet day. But her companion didn’t share her view. As they went down the hill to the village and she pointed out her home on the opposite rise, he stopped the car to have a look.

  ‘Early Georgian?’ he asked.

  ‘Partly. There’s a bit at the back that’s Queen Anne. It’s a pity it’s wet.’

  ‘It’s beautiful—rural England at her best.’ He looked at her. ‘Excited?’

  She nodded. ‘I always love coming home. I don’t think I ever enjoyed living in London. I like pottering in the garden and going to the village shop and walking miles. That must sound very dull.’

  She was surprised when he told her: ‘I live in the country myself—not as lovely as this, but beautiful in a placid way. No hills like these.’

  He started the car again, driving slowly now, and stopped again outside her home.

  He was an instant success. Her mother, pottering around the window boxes along the front windows, turned at the sound of the car, crossed the narrow strip of pavement and peered through the window at them.

  ‘Darling, how lovely, and you’ve brought someone with you.’ She beamed at the doctor and added: ‘How very nice,’ because his smile held such charm.

  He got out, opened Phyllida’s door and when she had embraced her mother and introduced him, said in his placid way: ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs Cresswell. I hope it’s not inconvenient…?’

  Mrs Cresswell’s smile widened. ‘It’s the nicest surprise, and how kind of you to drive Phylly home. Come in, I was just going to get the tea. There are rather a lot of us, I’m afraid.’ She glanced at Phyllida. ‘Willy’s home again, he’s been very under the weather, poor boy, and Beryl’s home for a few days—so’s Dick—half term,’ she added vaguely, ‘or whatever it is they have at these places.’

  She paused to take a good look at her elder daughter. ‘Darling, you’re nice and brown, but you look—well— come inside and tell me about it.’

  She glanced across at the doctor standing quietly by. ‘There’s something, and you’ll know about it too, I expect. Come into the kitchen while I get the tea; the others won’t be in for a bit. Willy’s gone with Father on his visits and the other two went over to Diggs’ farm.’

  Mrs Cresswell had the happy knack of putting people at their ease and making them feel at home. The doctor was offered a seat at the kitchen table, given a pile of scones on a dish, a plate of butter and a knife, and asked if he would split and butter them. Phyllida, sitting opposite, making sandwiches, was surprised to see how handy he was; as far as she could remember he hadn’t done a hand’s turn at the de Meesters’ house, although of course there he hadn’t really needed to.

  Her mother was taking a large cake from its tin. ‘Well, darling?’ she looked questioningly at Phyllida. ‘Or shall Doctor—no, I shall call you Pieter—talk about it?’

  Phyllida started to spread the sandwiches. ‘Gaby died. We were put ashore at Funchal because the ship’s doctor was worried about her and thought she ought to go home or into hospital. The de Wolffs left us at an hotel and went on with the ship. I—I found her unconscious and Pieter got her into hospital and fetched the de Wolffs back, then he took me to stay with some friends of his until there was another ship.’

  Her mother received this somewhat bald statement calmly. ‘Very distressing—poor Gaby, and poor you, darling. We have to thank Pieter for a great deal.’ She glanced at the doctor’s impassive face. ‘Phylly, be a dear and run down to Mrs Brewster’s and get some more cream—we haven’t nearly enough for these scones.’

  And when the door had closed behind her daughter: ‘Neither my husband nor I will be able to thank you enough, Pieter. And now the child’s out of the way, will you tell me exactly what happened?’

  He sat back in his hard chair, his hands in his pockets. After a moment he began to tell her in his calm way, not taking his eyes from his listener’s face. When he had finished Mrs Cresswell said again: ‘Thank you, Pieter—just to say that isn’t enough, but I don’t know what else… Will you tell my husband when he comes in? After tea while we’re washing up.’ She added: ‘Those wretched de Wolffs, what I’d like to do to them!’

  The doctor nodded without speaking and then with his eyes on the door behind her: ‘I can see that you’re an excellent cook, Mrs Cresswell. Can you cook, Phyllida?’

  ‘Of course she can,’ Mrs Cresswell took her cue smartly. ‘I taught her.’ She took the cream from Phyllida and emptied it into a china dish just as the front door banged shut. ‘Beryl and Dick,’ she lifted her voice. ‘We’re in here.’

  She had just finished introducing everyone when Doctor Cresswell came in too and it all
had to be done again. ‘And now we all know each other,’ said Mrs Cresswell happily, ‘let’s have tea.’

  It was a noisy meal with everyone talking at once, asking questions of Phyllida and not really listening to the answers, which was just as well, for she was quieter than usual. But they supposed her to be tired after her journey, although once or twice her father was on the point of asking her a question, but the doctor had intervened smoothly each time. It wasn’t until the meal was over and Mrs Cresswell marched everyone into the kitchen to help with the washing up, bestowing a speaking glance at her husband as she did so, that Doctor Cresswell, left with his guest, observed: ‘I gather there is something I should know. Am I right?’ He got up. ‘I think if we went to the study—Willy stayed out to tea, but he’ll be back at any time—we might get interrupted here.’

  His guest told him exactly what he had told Mrs Cresswell but without any glossing over of the harsher bits. Doctor Cresswell heard him out without comment.

  ‘Poor little Gaby. I’ll go and see the de Wolffs tomorrow. I’m deeply indebted to you for looking after Phylly and doing what was best for Gaby. And these friends of yours, I should like their address if I may, so that we can express our thanks to them as well.’

  He got to his feet. ‘You’ll stay the night, of course— longer if you can manage it.’

  ‘I should be delighted; I still have a few days before I need to go back.’

  ‘Then spend them here. Do you suppose that Phylly wants to talk to me about this?’ Doctor Cresswell’s nice open face crinkled into a smile. ‘We’re the greatest of friends and I don’t want to force her—perhaps she’d rather wait…’

  ‘I think she would like to tell you herself. She was very upset about it, although she did everything possible in the most difficult of circumstances.’

  ‘She shall drive me on my morning rounds.’ Doctor Cresswell led the way into the hall and across it to the large, airy sitting room. ‘Are you a G. P. like myself or do you specialise? I gather from the talk at tea that you live in the country…’