by Betty Neels
`I suspect that they will be changed for me.'
She frowned; it had seemed to her that Rhoda would be quite content with a husband who was absorbed in his work and left her free to live the social life she seemed to love. She uttered her thoughts out loud.
`Has she gone to Bangkok?' The words were out before she could stop them, but before she could do anything about it he answered her in an ordinary voice with no surprise in it.
`Yesterday. The Burches were delighted that she could go with them; I imagine that she will enjoy herself enormously.'
Matilda muttered a reply, very red in the face, and he, glancing quickly at her, smiled slowly and then said over his shoulder, `I thought we'd stop presently, Lucy-would you like that?'
They were north of Salisbury by now, still on the A303, and it was after they had passed Wincanton that he said, `Your mother suggested that we might stop for coffee,' and turned off on to a side-road. `We can't stay long but you will have the time to collect anything you may want.'
`Thank you. May Lucy go into the sea?"
'If the day is warm and she stays only a short time. Do you wish to swim?'
`Yes.'
Then they didn't speak again until he drew up outside her home.
The entire ffinch family came out to meet them; Matilda wondered if Mr Scott-Thurlow was comparing the warmth and noise of their reception with the cool and perfect manners of Rhoda. It was impossible to tell from his expression and his own manners were too good to give her a clue. Lucy, instantly made much of, was borne away to the kitchen by Esme to be refreshed with cake and lemonade while the rest of the party strolled after them. The kitchen door was open and the sunlight streamed in to the comfortably shabby room, smelling of freshly ground coffee and newly baked cakes. Matilda saw Mr ScottThurlow's splendid nose twitch appreciatively.
`You're in a hurry,' said her mother, `so I thought it better if we had coffee here-Tilly, you'll want to run upstairs and collect some clothes, I suspect. Hilary put everything out on the bed, ready to pack. If you'll just pick out what you're going to want, my dear.'
`I'll go now, while you're pouring the coffee. Thanks, Hilary...'
She flew upstairs and found the elderly zipper bag they all borrowed in turn in the bedroom and a couple of cotton dresses neatly pressed and folded. Her swimsuit was there too and some old sandals, just right for the beach. She packed the bag, added a thick sweater in case it turned chilly and went back to the kitchen, to find everyone there, some sitting at the table, the younger ones milling around, in and out of the garden.
Mindful of Mr Scott-Thurlow's wishes, she gobbled her cake, swallowed down her coffee and pronounced herself ready to leave, but another ten minutes was wasted while she made her protracted goodbyes and the dogs were rounded up and they were all stowed into the car once more.
`What a pity you can't go and see your grandparents,' said Matilda at the end of her polite speech of thanks. `You practically pass their door...'
`No time. I'll call on my way back.' They were again on the A303 and he sent the Rolls forwards at the steady maximum speed allowed. They joined the A30 presently and then turned off on to the motorway south of Exeter. Here he could travel faster and the big car shot effortlessly ahead, eating up the miles, and so on towards Plymouth and to the road over Haldon and then the long straight stretch to Buckfastleigh and Tomes and all too soonfrom her point of view-they were on the road to Kingsbridge.
`This is the long way round,' said Mr Scott-Thurlow, `but it is by far the prettiest road.' At Kingsbridge he took the road to Torcross and then raced along Slapton Sands with the beach on one side of them and a charming lake on the other, and at its end he took the car smartly up the steep wooded road which led to the village.
Stoke Fleming rambled on either side of the road; small white and pink painted cottages
with thatched roofs and gardens bright with flowers, and splendid views of the beach and sea below. He turned the car down a narrow lane and in through an open gateway and stopped before the open door of a traditionally pink-washed cottage, its thatched roof pierced by small lattice windows and surrounded by a fair-sized lawn and a wealth of flower-beds. He leaned over to the back seat and opened the door for Lucy and the dogs and got out himself to go round to Matilda's side.
`Why, it's pure heaven!' she told him. `What a pity that you can't stay here too-you need a holiday.' She waved an arm. `All this space and the view and this darling little house...'
She became aware that he was looking at her and smiling. As usual, she reflected crossly, she was allowing her tongue to chatter on. She looked away from him and said stiffly, `This seems a charming place; Lucy will love it.'
The child and the dogs had rushed into the house; she could hear Lucy's voice, squeaky with excitement, and a moment later she came running out again, this time with a small round woman, grey-haired and rosy-cheeked.
She went straight to Mr Scott-Thurlow, who hugged her, kissed her soundly and told her in a voice Matilda had never heard before-it was so content-that she was prettier than ever. `And this is Matilda' he told her, `come to keep this imp of mischief out of trouble and keep you company.'
Matilda smiled at the nice kind face as she shook hands; they were going to like each other. She said happily, 'I'm sure we're going to be very happy here.'
`No doubt of it, me love. And as pretty a maid as I seen for many years. Now just you come in and eat your dinners and you, Mr James, must have a nice lay-down before you go back. More's the pity that you have to go.'
She bustled them indoors, through a small hall and into a large, low-ceilinged room with a table set under the far window; the floor was polished and spread with thick rugs and the chairs were comfortable and well cushioned. A matronly cat sat in one of them, washing herself, taking no notice of the dogs pottering to and fro.
`You'll be wanting to tidy yourselves,' said Emma Truscott. `Up the stairs and the first door on the right-don't be long, I'll be dishing up.' As she trotted off into the kitchen Matilda heard her telling Mr James to fetch the cases, do, and take them up to the bedrooms.
When they went downstairs again there was an old-fashioned soup tureen on the table and Mr Scott-Thurlow was ladling its contents into deep plates. Matilda sat Lucy at the table. `Can I do anything to help, Miss Truscott?"
'Call me Emma, me love, and sit yourself down. Watercress soup I made myself and as nice a chicken as ever I saw to follow.' She cast Matilda an approving look. `Enjoy good food, do you? You're a nice healthy shape-I don't hold with all this fancy eating; I like a woman to look like one. Don't you agree with me, Mr James?'
Matilda bent a red face over her plate. Mr Scott-Thurlow gave a serious reply but she had no doubt that he was amused.
The chicken was brought in, carved with the expertise expected of the carver, and eaten with the appropriate trimmings and followed by raspberries and clotted cream, while Emma enlarged on the various small events in the village. All too soon the meal was over and Mr Scott-Thurlow was preparing to leave.
`You'll not go, Mr James, until you've sat yourself down for ten minutes, quiet like. Dear knows what your insides will be like if you get straight into that car of yours and go dashing off.'
It surprised Matilda that he did as he was told and went to sit outside in a garden chair with nothing but the sea in front of him. Lucy climbed on to his lap and sat quietly while Matilda helped clear the table. At the end of ten minutes, he got to his feet, hugged the child and said in a voice which meant what it said that he was leaving.
`Well, if you must, you must,' grumbled Emma, `but just you take care how you drive.'
He said `yes' meekly, hugged her fondly, kissed Lucy and nodded to Matilda. However, halfway to the gate he paused and came back to her, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her. It was a tender, lingering kiss and she thrilled to it, aware that if he had dropped his guard the kiss would have been quite different. She turned her back on good sense and kissed him back, know
ing that she would regret it bitterly.
He said nothing at all but turned on his heel, got into his car, and with a wave of his hand, drove himself away.
She turned round to see Emma eyeing her thoughtfully. She said breathlessly, `I expect he thought I was Rhoda...'
A silly remark which received a tart answer. `You know and I know that he thought no such thing, love. Now you go and unpack your things and take Lucy down to the beach. There's a path down the cliff to the shore, through the wicket gate at the bottom of the garden.'
The sand was firm and clean, and they strolled along on the edge of the sea, their sandals in their hands, revelling in the warm air and the sound of the water splashing their feet. `I wish Uncle James was here too,' said Lucy. `I can't see why he can't have a holiday...?"
'He has to go to Holland, darling-he's a busy man."
'Do you suppose he'll come and see us while we're here?'
`I don't think so.' Matilda sounded sad; if he had any time at all he would surely spend it with Rhoda.
`Well, I do,' said Lucy, `he likes me and he likes you too-he kissed you goodbye.'
`Well, that was because he kissed us all, didn't he?"
'He took a lot longer over you,' said Lucy.
They went to bed early, bidden to do so by Emma in her soft West Country voice, so it made sense that they should be up early too, to spend a long day, shopping for Emma, doing a few chores around the house and then going down to the beach, this time with a bucket and spade for Lucy and wearing cheap straw hats to protect them from the sun. All the same Matilda had a sprinkling of freckles across her nose by the evening. She sat at her dressing-table that evening, rubbing them with a cream to remove them and which did no such thing. Not that she minded much; there was no one to see them, and by no one of course she meant Mr Scott-Thurlow. She jumped into bed and inspected her room with pleasure. The cottage was charmingly furnished with the right kind of furniture, pretty chintz curtains and soft rugs. It had been skilfully modernised but it still contrived to look cosy despite the porcelain ornaments scattered around the silver tableware and fine linen. It was, reflected Matilda, a home-a retreat. She wondered how often Mr Scott-Thurlow came to stay in it and if Rhoda had ever been with him. It was a pity that she couldn't ask Emma...
But she had no need; over breakfast the next morning Emma volunteered the information that Mr James, when he came to stay for a few days or a weekend, came alone. `That Miss Symes he's supposed to wed came to visit one afternoon-she can't a-bear this end of the country; likes the bright lights or foreign parts. Dear knows how they'll sort that out when they marry, if ever they do.'
Matilda murmured vaguely, glad that Lucy had left the table to take the crumbs for the seagulls, and Emma went on chattily, `You've seen quite a bit of Mr James, I dare say, what with the little dog and his granny and now little Lucy.' She cast a shrewd eye at Matilda. `He's a good man, is Mr James, as well as being a gentleman born, and you don't often get the two together.' She obviously expected an answer.
`Yes, he's very kind...'
"Andsome too, and then all that money... There's been plenty of young women willing to have him and his money.'
Matilda reflected that she was willing to have him without a single penny piece; she loved him regardless of anything else, but love wasn't enough. She said in a small wooden voice, `Well, he's found someone he wants to marry...'
She was piling marmalade on to a piece of toast and didn't see Emma's look. `That he has, me love, and the sooner the better, he's been too long without someone to love him and be loved.' She was suddenly brisk. `Now, if you'll go, the pair of you, to the butcher's and fetch some of his sausages we'll have toad-in-the-hole for our dinner and there's raspberries to be picked in the garden. You'll be going to the beach presently`?'
Matilda got up with a sense of relief. Emma was a darling but her eyes were sharp and she seemed to know a great deal about James well, of course she would, having been cook to his parents and then joining his grandparents' household until he had installed her as housekeeper in this cottage. He wasn't mentioned again that day and indeed no one mentioned his name during the next few days, which slid with pleasurable slowness into a week, during which the pair of them acquired a glorious tan and Lucy, under Matilda's patient guidance, learned to swim. They also developed healthy appetites. `I shall get fat,' declared Matilda, helping herself to more clotted cream. They went for gentle strolls in the evenings once the supper had been cleared away and the dishes washed, leaving Emma to sit with her old-fashioned specs perched on the end of her nose, reading the paper, and on Sunday they all went to the village church before going back to Emma's splendid Sunday dinner. Quite perfect, thought Matilda, or almost quite-if James were there it would be...
The lovely weather showed no sign of abating. Matilda got up early while Lucy still slept and got into one of her rather elderly cotton dresses, tied back her hair and went downstairs to give a hand with the weekly wash. There was a washing-machine of course and she had engaged to keep it filled and emptied while Emma got the breakfast. With all the doors and windows open, and the morning already pleasantly warm even at seven o'clock in the morning, she went happily about the task. Emma had put the first load in earlier; Matilda piled the clothes basket, loaded the machine again and went off to where the clothes-line hung out of sight at the bottom of the garden. It was pleasant hanging up sheets and towels and pillowcases with no sound but the waves below, the seagulls on the look-out for breakfast and a car or two on the road, going down the hill to Slapton Sands, intent on finding a vacant parking space before everyone else got there. She finished ramming home the last peg, picked up the basket and went back to the cottage; Emma would have breakfast ready by now.
She put the basket in the scullery ready for the next load and went through the open kitchen door. Mr Scott-Thurlow was leaning against the wall, talking to Emma, frying bacon on the Aga.
He was wearing an open-necked shirt and drill trousers and had the air of someone who had been on holiday for some time.
Matilda fetched up short, frowning fiercely because she felt the bright colour flood into her face, but she couldn't stop the happy sparkle in her eyes.
He studied her face for a moment. `Good morning, Matilda.' His eyes left her face and travelled over her person, giving her time to regret the elderly dress. `You look well Emma's cooking, no doubt...'
`If you mean I've got fat she began wrathfully.
`No, no, nothing of the sort. You appear to me to be-er-exactly the right shape. And Lucy?"
'Is splendid-she's put on weight too and she looks marvellous.'
`That makes two of you.'
She didn't answer that. `Have you just got here?' she asked politely.
`I got here about three o'clock this morning.'
`Three o'clock... But you ought to be in bed, you must be tired out.'
`Not a bit of it. I've given myself two days off so I hope that you-and Lucy-will bear with my company.'
She couldn't prevent the wide smile and when he smiled slowly too she actually took a step towards him, wanting to be near him, tell him how happy she was to see him. It was providential that Emma spoke.
`Bacon's done to a turn and there's the tattles fried up how you like 'em. Sit down, do, and eat your breakfasts.'
Matilda dragged her eyes away from Mr Scott-Thurlow's face. `I'll fetch Lucy.' She flew out of the room and up the little staircase and found the child hanging out of the window. `I heard some dogs barking, they sounded just like Canada and Theobald, but it's not of course. I was looking to see if there's anyone on the beach...'
`Come down and eat your breakfast, love,' said Matilda, and laughed out loud when she saw the child's delight and surprise when the dogs came to meet them at the kitchen door.
Lucy burst into the room. `Uncle James, you're here, it was Theobald barking and Canada!' She flung herself at him, talking excitedly, and it took a few minutes before they were all sitting at the table i
ntent on breakfast.
Mr Scott-Thurlow ate an enormous meal, but then he was a very large man and probably he hadn't had his supper or stopped on the way down.
`Are you here for weeks and weeks?' asked Lucy.
`Two days, sweetheart, so tell me what you want to do most and we'll do it.'
He looked across the table at Matilda as he spoke, and because there was something in his face which she found disquieting she said quickly, `It's going to be a lovely day.'
A silly remark, but he agreed with her, still staring at her until the slow lovely colour crept into her cheeks. He smiled then and looked away and Lucy broke the silence.
`I can swim, Uncle James-can we go down on to the beach and I'll show you? I do six strokes if Matilda is beside me.'
`I can think of nothing nicer. Emma, have I got some swimming gear somewhere?'
`In the airing cupboard, ready and waiting.' She beamed at him and offered more toast.
