The Singing Tree

by Anne Weale

  ‘Good. But you haven’t answered my question. Has my restraint been unnecessary? Has your attitude changed?’

  She withdrew from his arms and, rather to her disappointment, he didn’t try to prevent her.

  ‘Only to the extent that, if you want it and Dodo wants it, I’m prepared to marry you as soon as it can be arranged.’

  Roderick’s mouth twisted in a mocking grimace. ‘If I believed that tepid concession was the true measure of your feelings I’d call the whole thing off. But I don’t. You want me as much as I want you, but for some reason you can’t bring yourself to admit it. Well, I can wait.’

  His eyes narrowed, raking her slender form from her face to her feet and back again, before he said, ‘Because I have a feeling that, when you do finally let your hair down, it’s going to be worth the wait. You’ve kept me at arm’s length a long time and if that’s the way you want it, or pretend you want it, I’ll stay there until we’re officially man and wife. But once we are...’ he paused, his gaze like a blue flame ‘... once we are,’ he repeated, ‘that “touch me not” sign is going to be dumped overboard ... and all inhibitions with it.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Roderick’s ultimatum echoed in Flower’s mind often in the days that followed. Each time she remembered it, a little shiver of mingled excitement and nervousness ran through her.

  Why had he added that rider about inhibitions? Did he think it was prudishness which had made her send him away on the night of their engagement? Yet once he had made a remark suggesting he thought she’d had numerous lovers.

  Something which troubled her deeply was the possibility that the hunger he had demonstrated in that cataclysmic kiss at teatime on the day he’d come back might swiftly burn itself out. Without love, how was she going to hold him once her body lost its novelty for him?

  Since his return to England he had had little or no contact with the local people he would have mixed with had his father and mother remained at the manor. But once he had reclaimed his heritage he would inevitably be drawn back into the circles his parents had moved in. Would he then begin to regret his marriage to ‘Flour’ Dursley, as she had been unkindly dubbed by a snobbish girl in her first year at boarding-school? Would he begin to wish he had married a girl of his own kind?

  Her misgivings grew worse as the expedited date of the wedding drew nearer. She had never visualised being married in a register office. Her grandfather, now making a rapid improvement would have liked to make the wedding as big a splash as possible. He was not pleased that Roderick was implacably opposed to a large society wedding involving many complex and time-consuming arrangements. Roderick’s preference was for a civil ceremony: brief, businesslike and, if possible, unpublicised.

  Flower herself would have liked to compromise with a small, quiet wedding in the parish church a mile from the manor. But she could see that, given an inch, there would be no stopping Abel from taking the proverbial mile.

  Rather than give him the chance to expand a wedding with about twenty guests into one with two hundred or more, it was better to have none at all, other than the necessary witnesses.

  Even though she knew a register-office wedding would take only a few minutes, it would still be a momentous event and she gave considerable thought to what to wear for the occasion.

  Nothing in her existing wardrobe was suitable and, with no clear idea of the kind of garment she was looking for, she spent a day shopping in London. What Roderick would think of her choice when he saw it she had no idea. Probably her bridal outfit was a matter of indifference to him.

  Flower had been Emily’s bridesmaid. From her place behind her white-clad tulle-veiled friend she had seen, and would never forget, Andrew Fairchild’s expression when he’d seen his bride coming up the aisle on her father’s arm. But Andrew, although he had known Emily all his life and, while she was growing up, had treated her like a sister, had by that time been deeply in love with her.

  Roderick was a man of a different stamp: realistic, practical, unsentimental. Andrew, she felt certain, would always remember how ravishing Emily had looked in her rustling Victorian-style crinoline of white silk taffeta, the family tiara lent by Andrew’s mother sparkling on her hair, her eyes bright with excitement and happiness behind the misty meshes of her veil.

  Fifty years on, when they were both in their seventies, their wedding-day would be a treasured memory.

  Although Flower had agreed to the brief formalities in front of the local superintendent registrar, her romantic heart ached a little because for her there would be no garlanded church, no organ and choir, no radiant walk down the aisle on her bridegroom’s arm, smiling at friends and relations in morning suits and pretty hats.

  The afternoon before the wedding, she was writing to thank Emily’s parents for their present when Watson came to inform her that a Mrs Meltzer wished to see her.

  ‘Mrs Meltzer?’ she said blankly.

  ‘An American lady, Miss Dursley. She first asked to see Sir Roderick. When I told her he was not at home she asked for you.’

  ‘Show her into the drawing-room. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

  Watson said, ‘It would appear that Mrs Meltzer is expecting to stay here. She has two suitcases with her and has dismissed her taxi. Is it possible that Sir Roderick has invited her to the wedding and forgotten to mention it? He has a great deal on his mind at present.’

  ‘That’s true, but he isn’t the kind of person who forgets things...certainly not the arrival of a guest,’ said Flower. ‘There must be some other explanation. Tell her I won’t keep her waiting long.’

  As the butler withdrew she completed the sentence she had been writing and rose from her desk, leaving the letter to be finished later.

  She had hoped that Emily and Andrew would be at the wedding, but their baby—a boy—had been born two days ago and her friend could not come. It was a big disappointment.

  It was difficult to judge the age of the woman who was waiting for her in the drawing-room.

  She had the smooth flawless skin possessed by some girls of eighteen, as well as the sparkling eyes and shining hair of the very young. But in other respects her appearance was that of someone at least in her late twenties and possibly in her early thirties. She was plainly yet elegantly dressed in grey trousers, a wool jacket, checked with black and grey on camel, and a turtle-necked camel sweater. Gold hoop earrings and a gold lapel-pin were discreetly stylish finishing touches to an outfit which was obviously part of a carefully chosen mix-and-match wardrobe of classic separates.

  A short cap of reddish-brown hair framed a pleasant, intelligent face. Her bright, friendly eyes were the colour of cream sherry. She appeared to be wearing no make-up but, with her remarkable skin and the natural pinkness of her lips, did not look dowdy without it.

  Flower had never met anyone—except Roderick—who emanated health and vitality to the same extent as Mrs Meltzer. She looked as if she wouldn’t know what it was to be tired, never caught a cold, and never, ever had off-days.

  At the same time there was something in her face which conflicted with her air of physical well-being. Any intuitive person, on meeting her, would wonder if she had been through some kind of spiritual ordeal.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Dursley?’ Her smile parted the full pink lips to reveal rather large but otherwise perfect teeth. ‘I’m Kimberley Meltzer. My husband George was Roderick’s best friend. I’m sure Roderick has told you about him. The three of us were very close until George was killed in an automobile accident.’

  So that was it. She had lost her husband. Flower remembered Roderick talking about them the morning Mrs Wood had fallen off a chair in the pantry and he had given her first aid.

  She said, ‘Yes, he has. You’re a nutritionist, I believe.’

  ‘That’s right. I hope you’ll forgive me for descending on you without warning,’ the American went on. ‘I’m not usually impulsive, and I meant to spend my vacation with my parents. But I really wasn’t i
n the mood for two weeks in Florida and suddenly I couldn’t resist my curiosity to see this lovely old house and to meet Roderick’s fiancée.’

  ‘You’re very welcome, Mrs Meltzer,’ said Flower, although privately she thought it most peculiar to arrive, without notice, the day before the wedding. Perhaps, now she came to think of it, it was rather odd that Roderick hadn’t invited Kimberley Meltzer to come to it. But he might have felt that a wedding would be an upsetting occasion for a young widow. It was possible that, preoccupied as he was with plans for the clinic, he might even have neglected to tell her that his wedding had been put forward.

  To find out if her visitor knew that by this time tomorrow he would he starting his honeymoon, Flower said, ‘Have you other friends in England? Are you planning a round of visits?’

  ‘Why, no, I was planning to stay here...if it’s convenient? I’m very interested in the clinic Roderick is setting up. It was I who got him interested in the connection between junk food and delinquent behaviour, you know.’

  ‘Oh, really? I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you, and of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. But perhaps you don’t realise that we shan’t be here after tomorrow.’

  ‘You won’t? Oh, that’s too bad. Where are you going?’

  ‘To an island in the Caribbean. We’ll be on our honeymoon.’

  ‘Your honeymoon!’ Kimberley exclaimed. ‘I had no idea you were getting married so soon. Not till next year, that was what Roderick said.’

  ‘We’ve had a change of plan... partly because my grandfather had a heart attack recently and he wanted the wedding brought forward in case he should have another.’

  ‘I see. But is that wise? I mean... you’ve known each other such a short time.’ The nutritionist did not hide her dismay at Flower’s announcement.

  At that moment Watson and John arrived with the tea things, and Flower gave instructions for her uninvited guest’s luggage to be taken up to the bedroom described in the inventory as the Chinese room because it contained two beautiful Chinese screens.

  When the butler and footman had withdrawn and Flower was pouring out tea, Kimberley said, ‘This has been quite a shock.’

  ‘It’s a pity you didn’t ring up before coming.’

  ‘I guess so...but why didn’t Roderick call me...tell me?’

  ‘He’s been busy setting in motion the conversion of part of the house into a clinic. It’s a complex project and he wanted to get things moving before going away.’

  ‘It’s not like him to rush into things. I know him very well. He’s not a man who acts impetuously...rashly.’ Kimberley’s tone sounded faintly accusing, as if she suspected Flower of putting undue pressure on him.

  Suddenly Flower remembered how, when Roderick had told her about his friend George, she had formed the impression that his sympathy and affection for George’s widow might have developed into something stronger than friendship.

  She had not thought much more about it. But now the American’s aghast reaction to the news of his wedding made her wonder afresh if, before coming back to England, he had given Kimberley cause to believe their future lay together.

  For the next half an hour, she and Kimberley made rather stilted conversation. Then she took the other woman upstairs to the room prepared for her and suggested that, as Roderick was unlikely to be back for some time, she might like to bath and rest until it was time for drinks before dinner.

  Kimberley agreed to this suggestion. Flower went back to her own room, feeling guilty because she expected Roderick to reappear at about half-past five, but she didn’t want him dashing upstairs to greet the American in private. She wanted to be present when they met.

  For the first time in her life she was jealous. It was an emotion she had always despised and it worried her to find herself feeling it, perhaps without cause.

  Roderick returned to the manor at twenty to six. She saw him drive up from her window and guessed he would go to his room for a shower and to watch the news on TV before coming down to join her and Dodo in the drawing-room at a quarter to seven.

  Abel’s doctor had not insisted on total abstinence. Her grandfather was allowed two drinks before dinner and two glasses of wine with the meal. She had poured him a single brandy and topped it up with diet soda when they were joined by Roderick.

  After a few minutes’ conversation, Flower said, ‘While you were out you had a visitor.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘She should be down any time now. She’s staying here. It’s your American friend... Kimberley Meltzer.’

  ‘She’s here?’ For an instant he looked as dumbfounded as Kimberley had when told of tomorrow’s wedding.

  Before he had recovered from his surprise the door opened and Kimberley herself walked in. She had changed into a printed silk dress with a scarf collar tied in a bow at one side of her neck.

  But Flower didn’t take in any other details because she was watching Roderick closely.

  ‘Kim!’ he exclaimed before striding towards her, arms wide.

  Watching them embrace didn’t make Flower any wiser about the nature of their relationship from his point of view. But the glow on Kimberley’s face as she went into his outstretched arms, and the way she closed her eyes when he gave her a brief but close hug, made it clear she was very fond of him.

  ‘Who’s this?’ Abel asked gruffly, looking put out.

  Briefly Flower explained, and a moment later Roderick brought her over and introduced her.

  The evening that followed was an awkward one. Kimberley seemed to feel that it was her social duty not to allow any lulls in the conversation, and Abel was at his most taciturn. He had never enjoyed the company of women, most of whom he regarded as fools, and his illness had accentuated his quirks. He had no inclination to be an affable host and responded with gruff monosyllables to efforts to include him in the table talk.

  At the end of the meal he announced that he was going to bed and asked Flower to give her his arm as if he needed assistance to get there.

  ‘What the hell is that silly bitch doing here?’ he demanded loudly as they crossed the hall.

  ‘Hush, Dodo...they’re old friends.’

  ‘Doesn’t give her the right to turn up here uninvited. She’s got her eye on him if you ask me,’ Abel said crossly. ‘Well, she’s too late. He’s spoken for. You’d better get back in there and keep an eye on her.’

  But when Flower returned to the drawing-room, she said, ‘I’m sure you two have masses to talk about, so if you’ll excuse me, Kim, I’m going to have an early night.’

  ‘Of course...what a good idea,’ the other woman said brightly. ‘I won’t keep Roderick up too late but, as you say, we do have a lot to talk about.’

  ‘Goodnight, Roderick.’ Flower did not offer her cheek to him.

  ‘Goodnight.’

  His response was as formal as if they were mere acquaintances, not a man and woman who tomorrow morning were entering into what should be a lifelong contract; and who tomorrow night would be sharing a bridal bed.

  Because of the nature of the occasion there was little point in the bride and groom arriving at the register office separately. But, although she was to drive there with her bridegroom as well as her grandfather—and now, presumably, with Kim in the car as well—Flower chose to have breakfast in her bedroom and not to join the others until a few minutes before they were due to set out.

  As she walked slowly down the staircase she could hear their voices below her, or rather her grandfather’s voice. He was telling Roderick the history of his watch, a gold hunter presented to his grandfather at the end of fifty years’ service with a firm in the industrial Midlands, the region round Birmingham and Wolverhampton at that time known as the Black Country because so much of it was blackened by uncontrolled smoke from the chimneys of many factories.

  ‘He treasured this watch, did my poor old gaffer,’ she heard Abel saying. ‘And so do I, but for a different reason.
I was fourteen years old when he left it to me, and I made up my mind I wasn’t going to waste my life working for someone else’s benefit. At the end of the day I was going to have more to show than the rotten little pension they gave him and a two-guinea watch. It’s worth a lot more today, of course. I dare say a watch like this would set you back two hundred quid now. But that was its value in his time.’

  Flower paused at a turn in the stairs and saw Roderick looking down at her grandfather with no sign of the boredom he was probably feeling. He had on a grey worsted suit with a cream shirt and cream and grey tie, and he looked very tall and debonair at the side of the short, obese man whose tailor could never disguise his short neck and ungainly girth.

  ‘Flower ought to be down here by now,’ said her grandfather.

  ‘Here I am, Dodo.’ She moved down the stairs, avoiding the eyes of the man to whom, within the hour, she would be bound if not forever at least for some time to come.

  It pained her to think on her wedding-day that her marriage might not be for life. But how could she feel that certainty when there was no love on Roderick’s side?

  ‘Where’s your coat?’ Abel demanded.

  Clearly he was not impressed by her simple cream chiffon dress.

  ‘I shan’t need a coat.’

  She had briefly considered wearing the full-length pale cashmere coat which had been one of his many extravagant presents. But she had rejected the idea on the grounds that the coat wasn’t suitable for such a quiet wedding. For the same reason she was wearing no jewellery other than small pearl earrings and her three gold bangles.

  ‘It’s a very mild morning,’ said Roderick, who had evidently been for his usual run before breakfast.

  He took a small case, about the size of her calculator, from his pocket.

  ‘Perhaps you won’t want to wear this today, Flower, but I’d like you to have it now. It’s one of the few family jewels to survive my grandfather’s depredations.’

  He opened the case and lifted, by its chain, a heavy green and gold pendant. As he handed it to her she saw that the brilliant colour came from a piece of malachite on which was superimposed an exquisitely detailed gold tracery. The design was a stylised tree.