A Winter Love Story

by Betty Neels

  He closed the door equally quietly before he spoke. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

  Disappointment at his terse greeting turned her pleasure at seeing him to peevishness. ‘Of course I should,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not in the habit of wandering round the house at this hour. I woke up—I don’t know why...’

  She started towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll get you a drink. You’re tired.’

  ‘Nothing to drink, thank you, but I am tired. Go back to bed. I’ll go to bed myself as soon as I’ve put my bag away.’

  She felt a childish wish to burst into tears. He was behaving as though he wished she wasn’t there. She turned to go upstairs again, and then paused.

  ‘At what time will you want breakfast?’

  He was already at his study door. ‘The usual time.’

  ‘But it’s after four o’clock!’

  He didn’t answer, but went in and shut the door. Now that there was no one to see, she allowed unhappy tears to trickle down her cheeks as she went upstairs.

  As for Mr Tait-Bullen, he sat down at his desk and allowed all kinds of thoughts to fill his head. The sight of Claudia, standing in the hall in her pink gown, her hair in glorious wildness with that look on her face, had disturbed him deeply. When he had envisaged being married to her he hadn’t imagined anything like that. She was Claudia, a girl he admired and liked, a perfect companion and a wife whose company he would enjoy without any of the hazards of being in love with her.

  Being in love was something he had lost faith in years ago, when he had given his heart to a woman and it had been thrown back to him. Not that his heart had been broken, not even cracked—indeed, he had remained happily heart-whole ever since. But, since then, falling in love had been something in which he didn’t believe.

  And now, suddenly, he had discovered that that wasn’t true.

  * * *

  CLAUDIA, CRYING HER eyes out in the comfort of her bed, fell asleep at last, and woke a few hours later looking much the worse for wear. She still looked beautiful, but her eyelids were pink and so was the tip of her delightful nose; she disguised the pinkness with expensive cream and powder guaranteed to work miracles, happily unaware that they made no difference at all, and went down to breakfast, rehearsing a few polite remarks about the weather as she went, just to let Thomas see that their unfortunate conversation earlier that morning was to be ignored.

  He was already at the table, the post scattered around his plate. He got up as she went to the table and wished her good morning in a brisk voice which warned her that he didn’t wish to talk, so she discarded the weather and replied even more briskly. Cork, offering coffee, buttered eggs and fresh toast, returned to the kitchen quite worried, for he had allowed himself to approve of his mistress after a doubtful start. She didn’t interfere, but at the same time she had made it her business to know exactly how the house was run—without interfering. She was looking unhappy, and he was uneasy.

  ‘If it was anyone else but the Professor,’ he told Harvey, ‘I’d have said it was a tiff, but he’s not one to waste his time on anything as silly. Very polite he is this morning, too—in a rage, no doubt. And she’s been crying...’

  Harvey looked sympathetic and allowed his ears to droop, so that Cork felt constrained to offer him a couple of nicely crisped bacon rinds.

  Mr Tait-Bullen studied Claudia from beneath lowered lids; she had been crying, but it seemed best not to mention that, for she wore a haughty expression which warned him off. It was hardly the moment to tell her that he had fallen in love with her. Claudia, being Claudia, would probably turn on him and tell him not to talk nonsense.

  He said mildly, ‘I hope to be home for tea today.’

  Claudia said, ‘Very well, Thomas,’ and, since she was anxious to be friends, even though they weren’t on the best of terms at the moment, added, ‘Is there any shopping you need? Have we all the presents for your family?’

  ‘If you would check the list? Have we remembered Mrs Rumbold?’

  ‘Yes—a cardigan. Would you mind if I added a box of chocolates? A big box tied with ribbon...’

  ‘By all means.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you later. Enjoy your day.’

  It was her last chance to find a present for Thomas. It was a pity that he had everything. She had the little figure of the dog like Harvey, but that wasn’t enough. She spent an anxious morning peering into shop windows; a tie wasn’t enough, besides, he might not like it—all the same she bought one in a rich silk—dark, glowing colours in a subdued pattern.

  Looking at a display of photo frames gave her an idea. She chose a small one in silver and took it back home, found one of the photos which Tombs had taken at their wedding and inserted it. It wasn’t a very good photo, but they had both been laughing—perhaps it would remind him that they had declared their intention of making their sensible marriage a success!

  She was in the drawing room, bent over a piece of tapestry she had bought, of roses on a creamy background which, when finished, would become a cushion cover, when Thomas came home. She saw with relief that he was his usual calm self, and they had tea together, talking casually—Christmas, his work, Harvey’s progress, Christmas again—and later, after dinner, they sat together in the drawing room, she with her tapestry, he with the evening papers and his medical journals. Just like an old married couple, thought Claudia contentedly. She must remember not to bother him when he had had a hard day.

  It was almost dark when she took Harvey for his evening trot the next day. It was cold, but dry, and a brisk run in the park would do him good. There were few people about—most were shopping frenziedly for Christmas. She kept to the main paths and decided to keep Harvey on his lead. He was an obedient little beast, but if he were frightened by something he might run off in a panic. She had turned back towards the road when two youths passed her, and then turned and followed her. She didn’t dare look round, but she picked up Harvey and quickened her pace. The road wasn’t more than a few minutes’ walk away, and there would be other people...

  Only there weren’t—there was no one in sight!

  She could feel they were close to her now. Should she run for it, scream, or turn and confront them? She spun round and found them within inches of her.

  * * *

  MR TAIT-BULLEN, ARRIVING home earlier than he had expected, found the sitting room and drawing room empty. Cork, coming to meet him in the hall, wished him good evening, adding that Mrs Tait-Bullen had taken Harvey for a run in Hyde Park.

  ‘I did suggest that it was a bit dark, sir, but she said that they both needed a breath of fresh air. She usually goes there from the Bayswater Road.’

  ‘Then I’ll go and meet her,’ said Mr Tait-Bullen, and got into his overcoat again. ‘Explain to her if she gets back first, Cork.’

  The streets were almost empty and he walked fast, which was a good thing, for he had no sooner got to the park than he heard Harvey’s shrill bark.

  It was quite dark now, but he could see Claudia and the two youths. As he reached them she landed a nicely placed kick on one of the youth’s shins and he yelped with pain.

  ‘Let’s ’ave the dog and break ’is neck for him...’

  Thomas didn’t waste time in talk. He knocked the pair off their feet, begged them in a terrifyingly quiet voice to be off before he called the police and turned his attention to Claudia.

  The youths scrambled to their feet and ran off, and Claudia said in a rather shaky voice, ‘Oh, thank you, Thomas. They were going to hurt Harvey.’

  Thomas’s quiet voice was harsh. ‘They were going to hurt you, too. It was foolish of you to come here at this time of day. You have only yourself to blame.’

  He had turned her round and was marching her back, out of the park, into the lighted respectable streets with their sedate houses and infrequent passers-by.


  She hadn’t expected that; she had expected sympathy, kindly concern, enquiries as to whether she had been frightened or hurt. The fact that he had only uttered the truth made no difference. Rage and delayed fright made her shiver. He was an inhuman monster! Scathing remarks she would have liked to make in reply remained unuttered, for they were walking too fast for her to talk; his hand on her arm urged her forward, but it didn’t feel friendly.

  Mr Tait-Bullen, aware of her thoughts, remained silent. The wish to sweep her into his arms, Harvey and all, was strong, but if he did that, and kissed her, things might get out of hand. Rather, let her dislike him for the moment than be frightened off by a love she hadn’t expected or asked for.

  Indoors once more, he took Harvey from her, took off her coat and gloves, sat her down in the drawing room and put a glass in her hand.

  ‘Drink this. It will make you feel better.’ He sounded like a friendly family doctor.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Brandy. You don’t like it, but drink it—there’s a good girl.’

  She tossed it back, caught her breath, whooped, was slapped gently on the back and burst into tears.

  ‘I’m not crying,’ said Claudia fiercely. ‘It’s this beastly brandy.’

  He forbore from comment, only smiled a little and went away to take off his own coat. Cork was hovering in the hall. ‘Madam isn’t hurt? An accident?’

  ‘Thugs. No, she isn’t hurt—only frightened and shocked.’

  ‘I’ll bring in the tea at once.’

  ‘Splendid, and give Harvey a biscuit or a bone. He’s been frightened, too.’

  Cork, quite shaken, glided away, to return within a few minutes with the tea tray and Harvey.

  He arranged the tea things on a table convenient to Claudia, murmured his regrets at her unpleasant adventure, assured her that the crumpets were freshly toasted and took himself off. His mistress certainly didn’t look quite the thing; she was usually as neat as a new pin, but now her hair was decidedly untidy and she was crying. He hoped that the master would comfort her in the proper fashion.

  Claudia, in a haze of brandy, took the handkerchief which Thomas offered and mopped her face and blew her nose.

  ‘I’ll go and tidy myself,’ she muttered, and started to get out of her chair.

  ‘No need. You look very nice as you are.’ Thomas’s voice was soothing, and at the same time matter-of-fact. ‘I’ll pour the tea. The brandy will wear off if you eat something.’

  He was regretting his harshness in the park; he had been afraid for her when he had first caught sight of her with the youths and fear had made him angry. He must repair the damage as quickly as possible.

  He gave her tea, and put a crumpet on a plate and set it on the small table by her chair. He said cheerfully, ‘You know, you had me scared for a moment—those boys can be so rough. Will you promise me not to go into the parks—any of them—once it is dusk?’

  ‘All right—you were so angry...’

  ‘Yes, but it was anger which spilled over from those thugs, and I had no right to blame you. Life at Little Planting is free from such unpleasant encounters—you weren’t to know...’

  It was going to be all right again, thought Claudia. They were back on their friendly footing once more. She bit into her crumpet. ‘I should have used my head,’ she conceded.

  They didn’t hurry over their tea; Thomas led the talk round to Christmas, and their journey north. ‘There are some splendid walks,’ he told her, ‘and there is a special beauty in winter. I’m looking forward to showing you something of the countryside.’

  ‘I’ll bring my boots...’

  ‘And something warm to wear. Have you had time to tie up all the presents?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, and I’ve put in one or two extra things—some chocolates and a scarf and some scent, just in case we’ve missed someone, or someone turns up who isn’t expected.’

  Nothing had changed, reflected Claudia, going to bed after a quiet evening with Thomas. True, he hadn’t said much, but just having him there, sitting opposite her, was nice...

  * * *

  THEY WERE TO drive up to Finsthwaite on Christmas Eve. A long drive but, as Thomas pointed out, they would be on a motorway for almost the whole distance: the M1 as far as Birmingham, then the M6 until they left it, just before Kendal, and took the road to the lower end of Lake Windermere and, a few miles farther on, Finsthwaite—a matter of just under three hundred miles. He would go to the hospital in the morning, and they should be able to leave London by mid-afternoon—a little over four hours’ driving; once out of town and on the motorway, it would be a straightforward run.

  Claudia packed carefully, made sure that the presents were stowed in the big box Cork found for her and collected Harvey’s basket, tins of food and his favourite bone. She would travel in the leather jacket, with a tweed skirt and a cashmere sweater—suitable garments if they were to go walking. She took her winter coat, too, for she was sure they would go to church, and added a little velvet hat, one of the jersey dresses, the green patterned dress, silk shirts and cardigans, sensible shoes—her boots she would wear—and a pair of elegant slippers. She wanted Thomas to be proud of her...

  They left at three o’clock. The afternoon was already turning into a raw, cold evening, but the shops were lighted, there were Christmas trees and coloured lights and, as they drove out of the city, pavements packed with last-minute shoppers.

  ‘I love Christmas,’ said Claudia happily. ‘And people look so happy... I hope Cork will have a good time.’

  ‘I fancy he will. His widowed sister comes for Christmas Day, and on Boxing Day some old friends of his come to lunch and stay until the evening.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  She stayed silent then, while he threaded his way through the streets until they were on the M1.

  ‘We’ll stop this side of Birmingham for a cup of tea and allow Harvey a breath of air. There’s a service station.’

  After that he was mostly silent, but it was a friendly silence, and Claudia had a good deal to think about. His family—she had met his parents, but only briefly at the wedding. Supposing his mother had decided that she didn’t like her? And his sisters... She began to compose a series of suitable topics of conversation.

  The Rolls swept with silent speed towards Birmingham. There wasn’t much traffic going north, and nothing impeded its progress. The service station lights loomed ahead of them and they parked and got out, glad of a few minutes to stretch their legs while Harvey aired his tail and then, tucked under Claudia’s arm, went with them to the restaurant.

  Thomas found a table, told her to sit down and went away to fetch their tea. Watching him coming back, with a tray of tea things and a plate of buttered teacakes, Claudia thought that Cork would have a fit if he could see his master now.

  They didn’t waste time, but drank the strong hot tea, ate the teacakes, and, since there was no one to see for the moment, Claudia gave Harvey a saucer of milk, tucked a paper napkin under his small chin and fed him the last of the teacakes.

  ‘Are we going to stop again?’ she asked.

  ‘If necessary. I’d like to get off the motorway before we do, but if you need to stop, say so.’

  ‘I was thinking of Harvey,’ said Claudia primly.

  Mr Tait-Bullen suppressed a chuckle. ‘Of course. But with luck he’ll sleep for a few hours.’

  They were bypassing Liverpool in just over an hour; in another hour they were off the motorway and through Kendal. There the road was still good, but narrow in places, with long stretches of dark countryside and few villages—Grigghall, Croathwaite, Bowland Bridge, and then nothing until they rounded the end of the lake at Staveley. Now the road had become a narrow lane, running between trees.

  Finsthwaite was a small village: farms, a cluster of cottages
, a village store and post office, a church and a village school lower down a gentle slope. A short walk away there was Grizedale Forest. It was a little paradise, but now shrouded in darkness, save for a few lighted windows, and then, unexpectedly, a lighted Christmas tree by the church.

  Thomas drove through the village, turned into an open gateway and stopped before the house where he had been born; it was a nice old house, built of grey stone, with light streaming from its windows and its solid door flung open before they were out of the car.

  Claudia need not have worried about her welcome. She was drawn at once into the family circle, kissed and hugged, helped out of her coat, then carried away by Ann and Amy to warm herself by the log fire in the drawing room and be plied with delicious coffee.

  ‘Just to warm you up,’ said Ann. ‘Dinner will be in about half an hour. Don’t change.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps you’d rather. Did you have a good trip here? Thomas is such a good driver. A pity it was dark, but I don’t suppose you could come any earlier?’

  When Claudia had finished her coffee they took her up the wide staircase at the back of the hall and along the gallery above it. ‘You’re here, Thomas’s dressing room is next to it and there’s a bathroom. I expect he’ll be up presently. Come down as soon as you can. We’ve still got to put the presents round the tree.’

  They left her then, in the high-ceilinged big room. The furniture was big, too: a vast brass bed, a tallboy and a mighty wardrobe in mahogany, an old-fashioned dressing table with a great many little drawers and a triple mirror standing in the window. Despite the heavy furniture the room was charming, with its sprigged wallpaper, thick cream carpet and chintz curtains and bedcover, and two bedside tables, each with a rose-shaded lamp.

  Claudia opened the door in the farther wall and saw the bathroom beyond, and another door on its opposite side which she opened, too. The dressing room.