Country Cousin

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  ‘And did it make Hugh realise, do you think?’

  Vanessa hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes when we were out together I thought so, but it was probably wishful thinking. He certainly made it quite clear today that he considers me a spoilt child who wants her bottom spanking and sending straight to bed.’ She rose and walked restlessly round the room. ‘There’s something else that will make you laugh. This sale we went to today—it was for one particular lot.’ She rummaged awkwardly in her handbag and brought out a packet, handing it to Eleanor who opened it carefully. ‘It’s a snuffbox, a special one, as you can see,’ Vanessa continued apathetically. ‘I was going to give it to him when ... if ever ... well, you can see what I mean,’ and she gave a short, bitter laugh.

  Eleanor did see what the gift represented, taking in the delicate heart design entwined all over the box. ‘It’s beautiful, Van,’ she said gently.

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘So that’s that!’ Tears were streaming relentlessly down her cheeks. ‘Oh, blow! Take no notice of me, Nell, only I’m so fed up.’

  Eleanor went to her. ‘Of course you are, love. Why don’t you let me help you to bed? You’ll feel much better. Has the hospital given you anything?’

  Vanessa nodded and brought out a small box of pills. ‘Good,’ carried on Eleanor, ‘they’ll be to help you sleep, I expect.’ She paused as something caught her eye out of the window. ‘Why, surely that’s Hugh’s car? Has he forgotten something, do you think?’

  ‘What?’ Vanessa turned a startled face and peered out. ‘Yes, it is! Nell, he’s coming in! I don’t want to see him—I can’t see him! What shall I do?’ she gripped Eleanor in a panic, but it was too late for escape. The bell was rung and Hickman was answering it. Vanessa, halfway across the room in flight, dropped with a stifled sob to her knees, her back to the door. Eleanor stood helplessly by the window, not knowing what to do for the best.

  Hugh came in, closed the door behind him and walked slowly over to Vanessa, looking down at her.

  ‘Van? My dear, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on at you like that, it was inexcusable of me. Will you forgive me?’

  Vanessa, cradling her injured arm, head bent low in order that he should not see her tear-stained face, whispered:

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does. Your forgiveness matters a great deal. I was halfway home before I came to my senses. I turned right round and came back, as you can see, wholly repentant, my only excuse being that anger is a normal follow-up to relief.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Vanessa said in a rush, voice a little stronger. ‘Everything you said was true. Honestly, Hugh, it’s all right.’

  ‘You’re very generous, my dear.’ He hesitated. ‘And to cap it all, I seem to remember you saying that you’d gone to that damned sale on my behalf.’

  ‘No,’ denied Vanessa, adding more calmly: ‘No, you were mistaken.’

  ‘Even when I’m angry,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I have a remarkably good memory.’

  Vanessa swallowed hard. ‘I might originally have bought it for you, but I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘I see. I get my just deserts. May I, at least, see it?’

  ‘No!’ replied Vanessa fiercely, tears beginning to stream again, and she stumbled to her feet, making a belated escape. Hugh caught sight of her face and gave a muttered exclamation, catching hold of her as she went to pass.

  ‘Don’t cry, Vanessa my dear, I can’t bear it. You make me feel so guilty,’ and he gave her his handkerchief which she grabbed gratefully, her shoulders beginning to heave. ‘Please don’t,’ he repeated gently.

  ‘It’s not that,’ sobbed Vanessa crossly, furious for breaking down and determined to put him straight. ‘You ... you mustn’t feel guilty. I deserved everything you said and if Edward had been here he would have acted j—just the s—same. You know you’ve always been like a s—second b—brother to me,’ and she ended on a sobbing hiccough.

  ‘The hell with that!’ exclaimed Hugh vehemently, abruptly releasing her and moving away. ‘I’ll tell you now, Vanessa, that it’s a long time since I’ve felt brotherly to you!’ and then he saw the snuffbox on the table where Eleanor had placed it.

  As the words and the manner in which they were spoken penetrated, Vanessa turned to him, trying to control herself, and followed his gaze. She stood rooted to the spot, holding her breath, while a dull red crept swiftly across her face.

  Hugh tilted his head and looked at her gravely, before returning his attention to examination of the box. After a moment he picked it up and carefully studied it, his voice reflective.

  ‘Late eighteenth century, I’d say at a guess ... good condition, rose quartz set in gold mount... most probably a betrothal gift.’ He placed it carefully back on to the table and moved across to her, holding her gaze, until he was very close. ‘May I have my present now ... Vanessa my love?’

  Vanessa nodded, suddenly enchantingly shy.

  ‘Good,’ said Hugh softly, ‘because I have every intention of taking it,’ and tenderly holding her face between his hands, he kissed her.

  Eleanor felt as though she had been holding her breath for ever and said despairingly:

  ‘You won’t forget that I’m still here, will you?’

  Hugh and Vanessa turned, both looking slightly dazed. Hugh said mildly:

  ‘So you are, but we hardly gave you a chance to disappear, did we?’

  ‘I daren’t, I might have spoilt everything! What a pair of idiots you’ve been,’ she teased, giving them both a warm embrace.

  ‘We have, haven’t we?’ agreed Hugh, carefully wiping Vanessa’s cheeks.

  ‘Darling Nell,’ said Vanessa tremulously, ‘I can’t believe this is happening!’

  ‘It is,’ Hugh told her firmly, looking anxiously at her wan face. ‘I think you ought to go to bed, you look worn out. May I leave her in your care, Eleanor?’

  ‘I shan’t sleep,’ declared Vanessa, giving an involuntary yawn. They laughed.

  ‘I’ll go and organise a hot drink,’ suggested Eleanor, adding demurely: ‘and you can have suitable privacy for saying goodbye.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Hugh gravely, ‘we appreciate your tact.’

  When Eleanor returned Hugh had gone and Vanessa was sitting with a dreamy expression on her face. She accepted the cup with a grateful smile and said thoughtfully:

  ‘Isn’t life amazing? It doesn’t seem possible that one can be desperately miserable one minute and in the next be as blissfully happy!’ She yawned and gave a laugh. ‘I suppose I am awake?’

  ‘Well, you’re not dreaming, or if you are, then I am too,’ Eleanor told her affectionately. ‘Come on—to bed, Hugh’s orders.’

  ‘Goodness, I’m feeling hopelessly shaky!’ And Vanessa clung to her friend as they climbed the stairs. Finally tucked up in bed, she said sleepily: ‘Thanks, Nell, I couldn’t have managed on my own.’ She turned a comic face. ‘Oh lord! What on earth will Mother say? Both her offspring to be married! She’ll be speechless!’ She yawned again. ‘Night, Nell. I’m awfully happy.’

  Eleanor switched off the light. ‘Goodnight, Van. I’m so glad things have turned out well for you.’ She closed the door quietly and made her way thoughtfully down the stairs. As she entered the lounge, Sykes lifted his head and his tail quivered in a greeting. Eleanor sank down beside him and the dog moved fractionally and laid his head on her lap.

  ‘You’ll be glad when your master’s back, won’t you, boy?’ She stroked him gently and he closed his eyes, snoring intermittently. ‘So shall I,’ she murmured. For Vanessa was wrong about one thing. Eve Mansel would be planning only one wedding. The other had to be broken off ... and the sooner the better.

  Henry, the tortoise-shell cat, was missing. After a whole day of non-appearance, Eleanor was convinced that something had happened. It was so unlike him to stay away for long without returning to be fed, and she wandered round the Mews, whistling and calling, but to no avail. When he didn’t
turn up the next day either she began to be really concerned. Eleanor had become very fond of the tortoiseshell—too fond. She would miss him when she left, but it was no good trying to change her nature ... she needed someone to lavish love and affection upon and Henry fitted the bill. He, in his turn, visibly blossomed, no longer qualifying for the term ‘mangy’. Whether Henry returned her feelings or whether regular meals were the attraction was a debatable point. And now he was missing.

  Nor was Henry her only concern. It was Friday. Edward had been away for four days and it was unknown whether he would arrive back in time to take Eleanor down to Felicity’s house-party that weekend. Vanessa and Hugh were insisting that if this happened, then she was to go down with them. This dashed Eleanor’s hopes that she would be able to miss the visit altogether, for the last thing she wanted to do was to spend two whole days in the company of Felicity Maddox, especially as she had decided that it was to be this weekend that Edward took his ring back. When he did so, she wanted to put a great number of miles between herself and Miss Maddox.

  These thoughts were running through her head as she made her way back to the Mews late that evening. She had been visiting Maisie and returning home by tube, suddenly decided to make a detour and go to the shop. It was an impulsive decision and a daft one, she admitted. Henry wasn’t a mollycoddled cat who couldn’t take care of himself, but an erstwhile alley-cat, who knew all the tricks of the trade—one of which was to inveigle himself into the warm heart of a softie like herself.

  There was no sign of Henry waiting in his usual place in the porchway, and to satisfy a niggling doubt that he might have been accidentally locked inside somewhere, she found her key and let herself in. Even as her hand went out to the light she remembered that the mains were off for the night.

  ‘Drat it!’ she muttered, fumbling for the burglar alarm switch, having no desire to be mistaken for an intruder. She opened the back door to the shop, ignoring the stairs leading up to Edward’s flat, arid stepped into the kitchen. By the light of the window she half-heartedly opened first a broom and then a store cupboard, calling the cat’s name softly. It didn’t surprise her to have no answering furry form wind itself round her ankles, she had been continually passing in and out of the kitchen area over the last couple of days and would certainly have heard Henry’s cries to be let out. The only place she had had no cause to go to was the cellar, which opened off the back of the showroom, under the stairs. Feeling her way cautiously across the shop floor, she found the cellar door and opened it, calling out ‘Henry!’ quite sharply into the dark void below. Ears straining for the slightest sound, she sighed. It was no good; she would have to go down and look properly. She fumbled back to the kitchen, loath to go up to the flat to switch on the lights at the mains, and found a box of matches. She returned to the cellar and struck one carefully, finding the top step by its dry flickering flame.

  ‘Honestly,’ she said crossly to herself, as she felt her way down the stone steps, ‘I could be fast asleep in bed by now instead of...’ Her foot encountered something unexpected, a draught of fresh air wafted out the flame, her balance went and she fell.

  She lay winded, an excruciating pain in her head, which she had struck on the iron rail on her way down, and in her wrist, which took the first impact against the cellar floor. She could not be certain how long it was before she was aware that the lights had gone on in the shop and that Edward was saying urgently:

  ‘What the devil’s going on?’ She heard his footsteps clattering down the stone steps as she blinked at the sudden light, heard his startled: ‘Eleanor!’ followed by a series of colourful oaths under his breath as he saw her sit up. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, prowling around in the dark like this, woman! No wonder you fell! What a damned fool thing to do! Are you hurt?’ he demanded as he helped her to her feet.

  ‘Please don’t shout, Edward ... my head aches...’

  ‘I should think it does—there’s a bump on your forehead as big as an egg,’ he replied grimly, and scooped her up into his arms.

  ‘I’m sure I can walk,’ protested Eleanor feebly, but for all that, content to rest her head on his shoulder, nausea coming over her in waves. She felt somewhat better lying flat on Edward’s sofa, vaguely aware that he was telephoning, and then a cold, wet flannel was placed on her forehead and she was told to lie still. She was quite happy to do so.

  Edward disappeared downstairs to secure the premises and on his return she opened her eyes and said disarmingly:

  ‘I didn’t think you would be back until tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s a good job I managed to hustle things. You could still be down there now,’ Edward retorted, switching on the gas fire.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she protested. ‘I only slipped a few of the steps. What did I trip over?’

  ‘A roll of carpet,’ he replied, frowning down at her.

  ‘The match blew out,’ she offered meekly.

  ‘When I opened the outside door, probably. You really are a little idiot, Eleanor. Ah, this sounds like the doctor!’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t need a doctor,’ she began, but gave up.

  When the doctor left, her wrist was bound and in a sling, and she had been given a thorough examination. Edward returned from showing him out, saying crisply:

  ‘He thinks the wrist is only a sprain, he wants it and your head x-rayed tomorrow morning. Any signs of sickness and he’s to be sent for.’ He mixed himself a drink and downed it in one swift gulp.

  ‘He told me he didn’t think I was concussed,’ murmured Eleanor, adding: ‘You look tired, Edward. Have you had a wearying trip?’

  ‘Stop trying to change the subject,’ Edward replied firmly, sitting down opposite. ‘What were you doing down the cellar?’

  She gave him a sideways look through her lashes. ‘Didn’t the doctor say I was too ill to be questioned?’ she asked hopefully, and Edward’s lips twitched.

  ‘No, he did not, my girl. Come on, out with it.’

  She sighed and eased her bruises. ‘You’ll be cross.’

  ‘I’m quite sure I shall be, but don’t let that deter you.’

  ‘I should love a cup of tea.’

  ‘You shall have one when you’ve said your piece.’

  ‘You really are a bully, Edward, aren’t you? Oh, all right! I came because of Henry.’

  His face went blank for a few seconds.

  ‘Henry? Don’t you mean Joe?’

  It was her turn to be puzzled. ‘Joe? No, of course not. I mean Henry. The cat.’

  ‘The cat?’ He rose abruptly and moved to replenish his drink. ‘Oh! Henry!’ He rubbed the back of his neck irritably. ‘I knew that damned cat would cause trouble.’ There was a pause, and then: ‘What about Henry?’ he prompted, back still turned.

  ‘He’s missing, he’s been gone for two days. I was worried and wondered if he could have been accidentally locked...’

  ‘... in the cellar. Yes, that sounds like you, Eleanor.’ He crossed back, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Why, in heaven’s name, didn’t you turn on the lights?’

  ‘Well, it meant coming up here and I thought I could manage with a match, and I would too if Ron hadn’t put that carpet on the stairs. It wasn’t there the last time I looked.’

  ‘Nevertheless it’s there now,’ said Edward repressively. He gave a heavy sigh. ‘Oh, well, it could have been worse, I suppose. You were lucky you didn’t break your neck, my girl.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted Eleanor humbly.

  ‘You’re a menace.’

  ‘I know.’

  Edward gave an exasperated bark of laughter. ‘Don’t you dare go all subservient, Eleanor, or you’ll tempt me to give you a shaking! I will now go and fetch you that cup of tea. If you can manage to stagger to the bathroom, a wash wouldn’t come amiss.’

  They timed their arrival back into the room in unison. Edward scrutinised her critically.

  ‘You’re going to have a lovely bruise. How do you feel, walking?’
/>   ‘A bit stiff, but not too bad. Er ... Edward?’

  He looked up from pouring out the tea and eyed her warily: ‘Yes?’

  ‘You know I said I came to look for Henry ... well, he isn’t Henry any more ... I’ve just found him in the airing cupboard with six kittens,’ and she bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at the comical expression on his face.

  Edward covered his face with a hand, and after a moment’s thought, looked up.

  ‘So Henry has kittens. How very remarkable! No wonder he gained weight. And just how long do you think he’ll occupy my airing cupboard?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Eleanor apologetically. ‘We shall have to move him eventually, of course, but at the moment he’s comfortable. It’s warm in there, you see, and he’s tucked himself away so cleverly at the bottom corner that...’

  ‘Let him stay,’ Edward declared with a philosophical wave of the hand. ‘God knows what Sykes will do, and have you considered the delightful prospect of taking a shower with seven pairs of eyes looking on? Slightly unnerving, don’t you think?’

  Eleanor gave a splutter of laughter. ‘Oh, Edward, you are funny!’ and he smiled, a real one, the alluring and elusive dimple very much in evidence, and she found herself smiling idiotically back. For a few moments happiness spread over her, giving her a sense of well-being, and then she remembered what she had to say.

  He lifted a brow above shrewd eyes. ‘What is it?’ he asked, and seeing her look of surprise, said impatiently: ‘Your face is an open book ... here, drink this tea while it’s hot and tell me what you have to say.’