The Most Marvelous Summer

by Betty Neels

  He was silent for a while but presently he began to tell her about Lucy. `She feels wretched, her throat is sore and she is feverish and cross, and above all she misses her father and mother. I'm hoping that you will be able to fill that gap to some extent. She seems very attached.'

  The car phone interrupted him and he slowed his speed. He listened for what seemed to Matilda to be a long time, then said, `I shall be an hour late, Henry. Let Theatre know and if possible get on with that last case yourself. The tendon. How's that boy? Good, I'll see him before I go to Theatre-be around, will you? Goodbye.'

  `What boy?' asked Matilda, who liked to know things.

  `A nice lad with a fractured spine; he was knocked down by a car last night '

  `Last night? You operated in the night and then drove down here to Roseanne and-and us?"

  'Driving is very soothing,' he said smoothly.

  `You ought to be in your bed.'

  `I don't need a great deal of sleep and I promise I won't doze off over the wheel.'

  `I am not in the least nervous, Mr Scott-Thurlow.'

  `I suppose it's no use asking you to call me James?"

  'No use at all...'

  `May I know why?' He was driving fast along the A303 and despite the good weather the traffic was thin.

  When she didn't answer he said, 'Ah, well, it is of little consequence.'

  He drove on for a time and neither of them spoke. Presently he said, `I'm afraid there isn't time to stop for lunch on the way-Mavis will have something for you when we get in. You must forgive me if I go straight on to the hospital. Perhaps we can talk this evening when I get home.'

  `Very well.' She added impulsively, `I do hope someone sees that you have something to eat when you get there. You can't work on an empty stomach.'

  He forbore from telling her how many times he had done just that and had hardly been aware of it. `My theatre sister takes good care of me,' he said carelessly.

  She sat quietly, watching the countryside flash by now that they were on the motorway, and now and again she stole a glance at his profile, very calm and rather stern, and at his large, well-kept hands resting lightly on the wheel. Her feelings were mixed; she longed for the drive to go on forever and at the same time wished it were over.

  He slowed the car as they reached the suburbs, weaving his way through narrow streets until he came out into Millbank, then Whitehall, Trafalgar Square and thence into Pall Mall and St James's Street and so at last to Orchard Street and the narrow street leading off it. Blenheim Street was a cul-de-sac with what looked like mews at its further end. The houses on either side of it were narrow with bow-fronted windows and each had delicate fanlights over their pristine front doors. Early Regency, thought Matilda, peering out of her window, and charming. Mr Scott-Thurlow stopped his car, got out and opened her door and invited her to alight, and at the same time a door was opened and an elderly man, very neatly dressed, came down the few steps to meet them.

  'Ah, Twigg, Miss ffinch has come to help us with Lucy. Matilda, this is Twigg, who runs my home with his wife. There's a case in the boot, Twigg; I'll come in for a moment but I must leave within minutes. See that Miss ffinch has lunch, will you?'

  As he talked he had ushered her into the house and Twigg put down her case and opened a door in the small square hall. It was charming, redcarpeted, its white walls hung with paintings and lighted by wall brackets, and the room which they entered was just as delightful. It overlooked the street, its bow window draped with chintz curtains patterned in soft dim blues and greens and pinks, colours echoed in the magnificent carpet which covered the parquet floor. The furniture was a nice mingling of delicate rosewood cabinets and tables and comfortable sofas and chairs. Matilda, taking one swift look, approved of it; it was exactly to her taste and despite its elegance it exuded an atmosphere of cosiness.

  Mr Scott-Thurlow waved her to a chair. `I do apologise for rushing you like this. As I said we can have a talk this evening; in the meantime Mavis and Twigg will look after you. But first I will take you up to see Lucy.'

  They mounted a graceful curving staircase at the back of the hall to the narrow gallery above. There were several doors here but he turned down a narrow passage leading to the back of the house and opened one of the doors at its end. The room was large and light with a big window overlooking quite a sizeable garden. It was charmingly furnished with white-painted furniture and flower-patterned curtains and quilt and Lucy was sitting up in the bed, her small face rendered grotesque by the mumps, flushed and hot but instantly overjoyed at the sight of them. There were two dogs on the end of the bed, one of which was Theobald, and Matilda hardly recognised him, for he was now well fed and very clean, a happy tongue lolling out of his foxy little face. The other dog was a golden Labrador with a gentle face. They got off the bed and Mr Scott-Thurlow caressed them as he advanced to the bed.

  `Your Theobald,' he said to Matilda, `and this is Canada.' He bent to kiss the small girl holding her arms out to him.

  `Here is our Lucy. Say hello to Matilda, darling; she has come to keep you company.'

  Matilda bent to kiss the child and was held in a throttling embrace. `I knew you'd come Uncle James said you would. You're the next best thing to my mummy. Will you live here?"

  'Well, until you're fit enough to go to school and by then your mummy will soon be home again.'

  Mr Scott-Thurlow put a hand on her arm. 'Mavis will be here presently to show you to your room and answer your questions. Then you will have lunch of course.' He bent to kiss Lucy again, disentangling himself gently from her small arms and went to the door, where he paused, turned round and came back again.

  `I haven't thanked you,' he told Matilda and bent his handsome head and kissed her too.

  Matilda opened an indignant mouth to utter the scathing words on her tongue and then she thought better of it; Lucy was watching. `Daddy always kisses Mummy when he has to go away,' she remarked.

  Matilda conjured up a bright smile and stooped to pat Theobald. She looked composed when she lifted her head just in time to see Mr Scott-Thurlow disappear through the door, Canada at his heels.

  `Why Canada?' she asked.

  `She's a Labrador,' Lucy explained kindly. `Didn't you think of that?' and then, `You won't stay away for long, will you?'

  The door opened then and Mrs Twigg came in, a stout elderly woman with small bright eyes in a round cheerful face. `Welcome, Miss ffinch, and I hope you'll be happy with us. I'll take you to your room if you're ready to see it now and Twigg has laid a nice little lunch for you in the dining-room. Ever so glad we are that Lucy will have you. I've done me best, miss, but I'm not so young any more. She's a dear little girl and no trouble.'

  She exchanged a beaming smile with Lucy and Matilda said, `I won't be long, darling. Do you have a little nap in the afternoons?"

  'Sometimes, but I'll read my book and wait until you come back-may I call you Matilda too?"

  'Of course you may.'

  Matilda was led away but not very far. Her room was in the corridor too, at the side of the house with a window overlooking a corner of the garden. It was just as pretty a room as Lucy's, furnished in some pale wood she thought might be yew. It had fitted cupboards along one wall and a bathroom, tiled in very pale pink and equipped with everything a girl might need.

  `I hope there's all you want, miss,' said Mrs Twigg, `and just you ask if there is anything at all that we can do for you.'

  `It's lovely, Mrs Twigg. Would you like me to come down now for lunch? I can unpack later.'

  She followed Mrs Twigg downstairs again and into a fair-sized room opposite the drawingroom where Twigg was waiting.

  `A glass of sherry, Miss ffinch? You will take soup?'

  She lunched with a good appetite; the food was delicious and Mrs Twigg was a splendid cook. Mr Scott-Thurlow might be a very busy man, she reflected, but when he wasn't being busy he had all the creature comforts he could wish for.

  She went back presently and
found Lucy hot and restless.

  `Another nightie?' she suggested. `And I'll bathe your face and hands, shall I? Then you'll feel cooler.'

  Which she did and then shook up the pillows, gave Lucy a drink and suggested that she should read to her. The child looked ill and very feverish, and since there was a thermometer in a little jar on the dressing-table she took her temperature. It was over a hundred and one and after a little muddled arithmetic she decided that was over forty degrees Celsius. A bit high, but Mr Scott-Thurlow would certainly have been keeping a check on that. She settled down close to the bed and opened The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and began to read.

  Presently Lucy fell asleep and Matilda sat in the quiet room with no other sound but Theobald's gentle snores. After a while she got up silently and went to her room, leaving the doors open, and unpacked the few things she had brought with her and then went back to sit quietly again; when Lucy woke she would probably be cross and hot and thirsty.

  She was all of these things and she wanted her mother. Matilda sponged her small swollen face, mopped her tears, gave her a drink and wrapped her in one of the light wool blankets on the bed before sitting her down on her lap.

  `You shall tell me all about Mummy and Daddy, and if you want to cry go ahead, darling, and I won't mind a bit.'

  Lucy sniffed mightily. `You really don't mind? Rhoda says I' m a cry-baby.'

  `Pooh to Rhoda. Tell me-is your Mummy pretty?'

  Lucy embarked on a description of her mother, pausing for a little weep now and then. She was very hot and Matilda wondered if she should have left her in bed. At least the child was calmer now. She was wondering what was

  best to be done when there was a knock on the door and Mrs Twigg came in.

  `A nice cup of tea,' she said in her soft voice. `I'll put the tray on this little table so's you can reach it. There's ice-cream for Lucy too. Mr James said as how she could have that.'

  `Why doesn't Uncle James come home?' Lucy wanted to know.

  `He'll be here in no time, my pretty. Just you let Miss ffinch get her tea while you eat your ice-cream."

  'Her name's Matilda.'

  Mrs Twigg looked at Matilda.

  `No one ever calls me Miss ffinch...'

  `Well, then, Miss Matilda, will that do?'

  Lucy nodded a satisfied head and Mrs Twigg trotted off. Matilda longed for a cup of tea; it had been a strange day and she was getting tired. She hadn't phoned her mother yet, her hair was springing loose from its pins and she hadn't even gone round the house to find her way about the place.

  Lucy ate her ice-cream and promptly went to sleep, leaving Matilda to clasp her in her arms and watch the teapot, trying to work out a way of reaching it without waking the child up.

  The minutes ticked by and all Matilda could think about was how to get a cup of tea; the more she thought about it, the thirstier she became.

  Ten minutes passed as slowly as ten weeks, then the door opened and Mr Scott-Thurlow came in. He took in the situation at a glance, and without speaking went to the bed, tidied it, rearranged the pillows, came to Matilda and scooped Lucy off her lap and tucked her into bed. She didn't stir as he took her pulse and felt her head.

  `Drink your tea,' he advised Matilda. `Has it been here long? Would you like a fresh pot?"

  'This is quite all right. Do you want some?"

  'I had a cup at the hospital.' He sat down in a chair opposite hers. `How has she been this afternoon?"

  'Hot and tearful but she cheered up and ate her ice-cream. She went to sleep all at once before I could get her back into bed.' She added, `She's feeling wretched, isn't she, poor moppet?'

  He leaned forwards and handed her a plate of small sandwiches. She took one and offered them to him. He looked hungry.

  He took one and said, `Now let us go over the routine for you. You will be busy enough for the next few days but by then Lucy will be feeling better and you will have some time to yourself. Mavis will take over from you for an hour in the afternoon-not long, I'm afraid, but you can sit in the garden. Have you phoned your mother?'

  She gave him a limpid look. `No.'

  He frowned. `That was a silly question. Go and do it now as soon as you have had your tea. I'll stay here.'

  So she finished her second cup and hurried downstairs and found Twigg to ask where she could phone. There were, it seemed, phones in almost all the rooms; she went into the drawingroom and found Canada lying before the open french window and bent to pat her, wondering when anyone had the time to take the dog walking. Her mother answered her when she rang but she didn't waste time gossiping. `I'll write,' she promised. `I must go back to Lucy now. Everything is fine.'

  Lucy was still asleep with she went into the room, and Mr Scott-Thurlow was asleep too, lying back untidily in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him so that she had to step over them to get to her chair.

  She sat and pondered as to whether she should wake him or not. He had said that he wanted to talk to her, tell her what her duties were; on the other hand he probably needed his sleep. She studied his face lovingly and was suddenly aware that he was watching her from halfclosed eyes.

  He began without preamble, `Your duties are vague, I'm afraid-a surrogate mother is the nearest to them and you are, as far as I can make out, the only one whom Lucy fancies in the role.'

  `Surely there must be aunts or cousins or-or what about Miss Symes?'

  She shouldn't have said that. He said in a voice as bland as his face, `Her aunts and cousins are scattered far and wide and I don't quite know why you should mention Rhoda.'

  `Why shouldn't I mention her?' she snapped. `She's going to marry you and I should have thought you would have asked her-she knows Lucy.' She gave him a fiercely defiant look, her insides quaking at the expression on his face. Ferocious was the only word for it.

  `I do not think that you need to concern yourself with the whys and wherefores, Matilda. If you would be good enough to listen without interrupting, I will give you some idea of what you may expect from day to day while you are here.'

  His voice was coolly civil as he outlined her duties. He was brief too and when he had finished he asked, `Is there anything else you would like to know?' and when she shook her head, `Then I suggest that you have a breath of air in the garden. I shall be here for half an hour or so.'

  So she found her way out of the house through a small side-door and wandered up and down between the flower-beds, feeling miserable. She had been silly to have dragged Rhoda's name into it in the first place, it was none of her business anyway. She would have to apologise...

  She went back presently and found Lucy awake and sitting on his knee, sharing one of her picture books with him, but as she went in he popped the child back into her bed.

  `I'll be in my study if you should want me. Twigg will let you know when dinner is ready. Lucy has had rather an exciting day; I dare say she will eat her supper and go to sleep very quickly.'

  He went to the door and Matilda followed him. `I'm sorry I was rude,' she said, `I can't think why I spoke like that.'

  He smiled down at her. `I have always understood that redheads have a habit of speaking before they think. You are no exception.'

  After he had gone she busied herself getting Lucy washed and into a fresh nightie before her supper of soup and more ice-cream, and that done she fetched a book and began to read to the child. It was a favourite of Lucy's and of Matilda's too, The Secret Garden, and she stopped frequently to talk about it for they both agreed there could be nothing nicer than having a secret place where one might go, and at Lucy's suggestion Matilda undertook to accompany her when she was well again to see if such a place could be found.

  `You're really very nice,' said Lucy and fell asleep, and ten minutes later Mrs Twigg arrived soft-footed.

  'Twigg's just about to serve dinner, miss, if you'd like to go down.'

  `Have I time to tidy myself, Mrs Twigg?'

  `No need, miss, there b' ain't no guests
this evening.'

  So she went downstairs, rehearsing in her mind the kind of conversation she would have with Mr Scott-Thurlow. The weather was safe enough, and Roseanne's leg, Theobald and his grandparents-there were plenty of innocuous subjects.

  `In here.' His voice came from the drawingroom and she went in, surprised to find him in a dinner-jacket. `You have time for a drink,' he told her and offered her a chair. 'I'm dining out but Twigg will see that you have everything you would like.' He poured her a glass of sherry. `I dare say you're tired; it has been a busy day for you.' He sounded uninterested.

  `No busier than yours, I should think,' said Matilda, determined to be polite. `I expect you have very little time to yourself.' Her eyes fell upon Theobald and Canada, sitting side by side, their eyes on their master. `Whenever do you get time to take the dogs for a walk?'