by Betty Neels
Which would have to be shouted, reflected Beatrice, for the old lady was deaf.
But any port in a storm… To get away as soon as possible was her one wish. She sat down that evening and wrote to Aunt Polly, and then waited anxiously for two days, during which no one mentioned either Colin or Oliver to her. And when the reply came, written in a spidery hand and violet ink, she showed it to her mother.
‘Aunt Polly wants me to go as soon as possible. Tomorrow? The student comes the day after. I could wait another day…’
‘No, love, you go.’ Her mother was slicing beans and didn’t look up. ‘I’m sorry, darling. We all feel for you, you know, even if we haven’t said anything.’
Beatrice put the letter tidily back in its envelope, taking time over it. ‘Yes, Mother, and thank you all for not saying a word. I don’t think I could bear that.’
‘A week or so away, darling, and you’ll feel able to cope again.’
‘Yes, Mother, and please don’t tell anyone where I am.’
Mrs Browning, rightly deducing that anyone was another way of saying Oliver, agreed.
Carol, with a few days off from her office, offered to drive her down, and they left on a wet day which, as they neared Cornwall, became shrouded in mist as well. Between Tavistock and Liskeard it formed a white wall which lasted until they neared the coast, and as they took the road from Looe to Polperro the mist lifted so that they had a glimpse of the little town below, snug between high cliffs, the cottages grouped around the small harbour. There were houses on the hillsides on either side, too, and any number of charming cottages tucked away on either side of the one narrow main road. Aunt Polly lived close to the harbour, up a tiny lane, with a steep flight of steps leading to her front door. Carol parked the car on the road and they went in together, already seen by their aunt, who flung open the door and, in the loud voice of the deaf, bade them welcome. Several cats came to welcome them too, and it took a few minutes for greetings to be exchanged before they all went indoors.
Aunt Polly was small and thin, with a ramrod-straight back and a fierce-looking expression. No one knew quite how old she was, and no one had dared to ask, but it was thought that she was eighty at least, although she didn’t look much more than sixty. She had refused help on several occasions, and if the family ventured to do more than write occasionally and enquire as to her health she became remarkably testy.
She seemed glad to see Beatrice, partly because Beatrice had a fondness for small animals and partly because she didn’t chatter, but she made no demur when, after a late lunch, Carol said she must go back home. Carol, she confided to Beatrice later, was a nice girl, pretty too, but far too smart and fashionable.
‘She’s very clever,’ pointed out Beatrice, on her knees in the small sitting-room, brushing one of the cats. ‘And everyone likes her.’
Aunt Polly snorted in a ladylike way. ‘That’s as may be. Why aren’t you married? You must be all of seven and twenty.’
‘I’m twenty-six, Aunt Polly.’
‘Don’t tell me you haven’t had an offer?’
‘Two serious ones.’
‘And the others?’
‘Not serious.’
‘There’s someone, I’ll be bound, a pretty girl like you. He’s married, I suppose?’
‘No. Just engaged, and he’s a friend, that’s all.’
‘A good basis for marriage, friendship. No good loving someone if you don’t like them.’ She removed a very large, fat tabby cat from her lap. ‘We’ll have tea. Go for a walk if you like before supper. I have it at eight o’clock. I like to go to bed early.’
The rain had stopped and the mist had lifted. The little town was quiet, the day tourists had left and most of the summer visitors had gone back home. Beatrice walked briskly round the harbour and climbed the cliff path on the other side. Tomorrow, she decided, she would walk to Talland Bay, unless Aunt Polly wanted her to do something else.
Aunt Polly suggested it over supper. ‘I live in a nice little rut,’ she explained. ‘Don’t think you have to entertain me. You can shop for me after breakfast and help me with the cats, and then go off and enjoy yourself until teatime.’
So Beatrice spent her days walking, taking sandwiches and sitting on the cliffs to eat them, watching the sea and occasionally getting wet from the sudden rain showers. There was colour in her cheeks again, and she was even able to laugh a little over Colin’s visit. She did her best not to think about Oliver, but when she did she got red in the face with shame, even though there was no one to see her. All the same, with two days of her holiday left, she felt that she could face everyone again. Given time, everything faded, even love, she supposed.
On the day before Carol was coming to fetch her, she took a last walk over the cliffs and then a stroll through the narrow, cobbled streets. It was the kind of morning which gave a hint of the autumn to follow, with a cool breeze which blew her plait over her shoulder and left her a little chilly although the sun was bright, hidden from time to time by great billowing clouds crowding in from the west. She stopped to look at a collection of pottery in one of the small shops; there were shelves of Cornish piskies, handmade and all different. One each for her sisters and another for her mother. There was a nice little painting, too, which would do for her father.
‘Hello,’ said Oliver gently.
She spun round and he caught her arm to steady her. The colour had left her face, now it came rushing back. ‘How did you get here? Who told you?’
‘I drove down and Mrs Perry told me…’
‘But I asked Mother…’
‘She said that she had promised not to tell—er—anyone. Mrs Perry happened to be there,’ he added blandly.
‘I’d rather not talk to you.’ She was breathless, and any moment now she would burst into tears. ‘I’m staying here with an aunt.’
‘Yes, I know. A charming old lady. She’s invited me to lunch.’
He took her arm and began to walk her away from the shops, back to Aunt Polly’s house. ‘A delightful place,’ he observed chattily. ‘Especially when the season is over. We must come again.’
‘No,’ said Beatrice, so loudly that several people looked at her.
The doctor came to a halt and turned her round to face him. ‘You really are a goose,’ he said, and smiled. Then, to the delighted interest of those passing by, he kissed her.
Beatrice closed her eyes and opened them again. He was still there, and she could feel his arms most reassuringly wrapped around her. ‘You can’t…’ she began.
‘Oh, but I can, and I will.’ He kissed her again. ‘The rest must wait.’
Beatrice sat through lunch in a bemused state, answering when spoken to, but taking no part in the conversation which Aunt Polly dominated with observations and tales about cats, and hers in particular.
‘Beauty will have kittens in a few weeks.’ She pointed to a grey Persian on the windowsill. ‘She’s pure bred, you know, thrown out when the people who owned her moved away.’
‘Perhaps you will save one of the kittens for us,’ suggested the doctor suavely.
Aunt Polly skewered his eyes with her own shrewd ones. ‘Yes. Us?’ She gave a chuckle. ‘You shall have one for a wedding present.’ She looked at Beatrice. ‘You hear that, Beatrice?’
Beatrice muttered ‘Yes, Aunt,’ and didn’t look up from the semolina shape she was pushing around her plate. She looked up pretty smartly when Oliver remarked that he would like to leave within the next hour. ‘I’ll wash up while you pack, Beatrice.’
‘But I’m not…that is, Carol’s coming for me tomorrow morning.’
‘She was delighted when I suggested that I should take her place—there is some flower show or other that she wanted to go to.’
‘So go and pack, child,’ said Aunt Polly. ‘I’ve enjoyed having you, but visitors do unsettle the cats, you know.’
So Beatrice packed and changed and got into the pink outfit, and presently went downstairs and found Oliver waiting
for her in the hall. He took her bag from her and waited while she said goodbye and made her little thank-you speech, then he bent and kissed the old lady’s cheek. ‘You must come to the wedding,’ he told her. ‘I’ll send a car for you.’
‘The cats—they can’t be left.’
‘I’ll find someone to mind them.’ And Aunt Polly, by no means meek, nodded meekly.
The car was parked in a private car park half-way up the main street.
‘No one is ever allowed to park here,’ said Beatrice.
‘I know.’ He unlocked the car door and ushered her into the front seat, and went away to the man standing in a corner, presumably guarding his property. She could hear him laugh at something Oliver said, and watched money change hands.
She had been racking her brains for a suitable topic of conversation, something impersonal—the weather, the scenery, the state of the roads? A waste of time, for Oliver got into the car without a word, and beyond the remark that they would get back in time for tea he didn’t speak. She found his silence disconcerting, and it lasted for the whole of the journey.
They were expected. Mrs Browning had tea ready and, since Carol was back from the show and Ella was there from school, there was no lack of conversation. And, if anyone noticed how quiet she was, no one said so.
Oliver got up to go after tea. ‘You’re staying down here?’ asked Mrs Browning.
‘Yes, possibly for a few days. It rather depends.’
He shook hands all round, but when he came to Beatrice he kissed her soundly without saying a word. When he had gone she stood in the hall for so long that her mother came back to look for her.
‘Oh, Mother, I’m in such a muddle—he’s not said a word…’
‘He kissed you very thoroughly, love,’ her mother pointed out.
Beatrice burst into tears. ‘That’s what I mean,’ she cried.
She had thought that she would stay awake all night, but she slept at once and didn’t wake until early morning. A lovely morning, too. It was going to be a splendid day. She got up and put on a skirt and top, and tied her hair back and slipped downstairs to let Knotty out and begin the climb up the hill. Perhaps she would be able to think clearly if she sat quietly and watched the sun rise in the pale sky.
She was almost at the top when she looked up. Oliver was there, watching her. She went on more slowly until she reached him, and he put out an arm and drew her close.
‘Oliver, how did you know that I would come?’
‘It’s the best time of day. Do you remember, my darling, when we met? I fell in love with you then, and I believe you felt as I did, although you didn’t know it then. You didn’t know it for a long time, did you? I had to wait while you got Colin out of your system, so I allowed you to think that I was going to marry…’
‘But why? There was no need.’
He kissed her slowly. ‘I had to be sure, and I had to wait until you discovered that you loved me.’
‘Oh, I do, I do. If you ask me, I’ll marry you, Oliver.’
‘I promised myself when we met that one day I would ask you to marry me on this very spot, and now I’m fulfilling that promise. Will you marry me, my darling?’
‘Yes, I will. Darling Oliver, I think I’m going to cry.’
Her dark eyes had filled with tears, and he wiped them away with a finger, then kissed her very gently, pulled her down on to the fallen tree-trunk, and put an arm round her.
‘A day for making a wish,’ said Beatrice dreamily. ‘Only I’ve got all I ever wished for, haven’t I?’
‘If you haven’t, my dearest love, I’ll make sure that you do.’
She kissed him for that.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3964-7
HILLTOP TRYST
Copyright © 1989 by Betty Neels.
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