A Winter Love Story

by Betty Neels

  She said, ‘Yes, Thomas. Goodnight,’ and hung up on him. If she had said more she would have burst into tears.

  The next day seemed endless. She filled it with walks and arranging the flowers and trying to eat the delicious little meals Cork had set before her, but by the evening she was restless, and at ten o’clock she decided to go to bed. The day had been long enough, and there was all tomorrow to get through before Thomas got home.

  ‘Bed,’ she told Harvey, and started towards the kitchen with him, but in the hall he stopped and rushed to the door, barking furiously, and a moment later Thomas came in.

  He closed the door gently behind him, bent to fondle Harvey and looked at Claudia, standing speechless. She had rehearsed all the things she was going to say to him but she couldn’t remember a word of them. She said, ‘Hello,’ and then, ‘You said you’d be home tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m home today because something’s wrong, isn’t it? You were upset when I phoned last night.’

  He was taking off his coat as he spoke, and Cork, coming into the hall, greeted him with grave pleasure, took the coat, enquired if he would like a meal or drinks and then went away, taking Harvey with him.

  ‘Cut the air with a knife, I could,’ Cork told the little dog. ‘What’s up, I’d like to know. Well, we’ll have to leave them to it, won’t we? And hope it comes out in the wash.’

  Harvey, accepting a biscuit, wagged his ridiculous tail.

  Claudia found her voice. ‘Would you like a meal, or something to drink?’

  Thomas smiled briefly. ‘Cork just asked me. You couldn’t have been listening. And, no, I don’t need anything. What I do need is to know why you sounded as you did last evening?’

  Claudia, playing for time, asked, ‘How did I sound?’

  ‘Don’t waste time, Claudia. You were upset, angry—too angry to speak to me. Why?’

  He took her by the arm, marched her into the drawing room and shut the door. ‘Let us sit down...’

  He sounded friendly, and reassuringly calm, and she longed to fling herself at him, feel his arms around her, but first she must know about this secretary of his. She wouldn’t mention Honor, for he might dismiss her as a malicious gossip bent on making mischief, and perhaps she was, but Mrs Truelove was quite another kettle of fish.

  ‘Where do you go when you aren’t at a hospital? I mean, do you have friends or stay at a hotel—in the evenings when you’re free.’

  If she had been looking at him she would have seen the sudden stern set of his mouth and his cool stare, but she wasn’t, so she plunged on, getting muddled and resenting his calm silence. ‘Don’t you meet people you know? Or—or have a meal out, or something?’

  She did look up then, and sat up straight at the sight of his cold anger.

  He said in a quiet, icy voice, ‘Are you accusing me of something, Claudia? Perhaps you should be more explicit.’

  She had gone too far now to stop. Besides, she had to know... She steeled herself to look at his expressionless face. ‘Your secretary, Emma—she wasn’t at your rooms. Mrs Truelove said that she was never there when you were away...’

  Mr Tait-Bullen crossed one long leg over the other. He said mildly, ‘You wish to know where she was for some reason?’

  ‘Yes, well, I think you should have been honest about it. I know it doesn’t matter, because we...we don’t love each other, but I am your wife.’

  ‘Let me get this quite clear. You have been told by someone that when I go away Emma goes with me, so when I’m not working we can—er—live it up together.’

  He spoke quietly, but Claudia flinched at the contempt in his voice. ‘And who told you this?’ He smiled thinly. ‘I’ll give you credit for not imagining it for yourself.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t imagine it,’ said Claudia hotly. ‘It never entered my head. I met Honor...’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  She peeped at his face. He was in a splendid rage, but he was controlling it with an iron will. She said recklessly now, knowing that she had cooked her goose with a vengeance, ‘Not quite. I tried not to think about what she had said, but she told me Emma wasn’t at your rooms—she laughed and said I didn’t dare to find out for myself... So I did. I phoned Mrs Truelove and she told me that Emma wasn’t there.’

  ‘I see.’ He got to his feet. ‘Our marriage may not be quite as other marriages, Claudia, but I thought that we shared a mutual trust, and I hoped that our liking might have turned into something deeper in time. It seems as if I was wrong. This is something which must be put right as soon as possible. If you are unhappy, and I think you are, you must make up your mind what you want to do. Take your time, and we’ll talk again later.’

  He walked to the door. ‘And now I must do some work. Goodnight, Claudia.’

  She said in a squeaky voice, ‘Thomas, are you very angry?’

  He smiled then. ‘Yes, my dear.’ It was a bitter smile.

  She heard him whistle to Harvey and then shut his study door, and she went up to her room, reflecting that he still hadn’t told her if Emma had been with him.

  The night seemed endless, and by the end of it she hadn’t had a single sensible thought. She would never be able to tell Thomas that she loved him now. Not that she would have done, she contradicted herself, but they would have made something of their marriage, because loving him, even secretly, would have made it worthwhile. Something would have to be done, but she had no idea what.

  She went down to breakfast, her pale face carefully made-up. It didn’t conceal her puffy eyelids or her pinkened nose, and Thomas, bidding her good morning in his usual voice, had difficulty in restraining himself from picking her out of her chair and carrying her off somewhere quiet, where he could tell her how much he loved her. But of course that wasn’t possible; she had demonstrated only too clearly last night that her feeling for him wasn’t strong enough to overcome her doubts.

  He said in his usual calm way, ‘I shall be away all day. Could dinner be a little later? I’ve a meeting at the hospital, and I’m not sure how long it may last.’

  He finished his breakfast, wished her a pleasant day and went away, leaving her to feed Harvey with her neglected toast.

  She was trying to decide what to do when the phone rang, and she went to answer it.

  ‘Mrs Tait-Bullen? This is Emma, the Professor’s secretary. Mrs Truelove told me that you had asked for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. When the Professor goes away he allows me to go home—I live in Norfolk—at least, my parents do. I’m getting married in the summer, and there’s such a lot of planning to do. Was there something I could do for you?’

  Claudia, astonished at herself, heard her own voice saying the first thing which came into her head. ‘Emma, how nice of you to phone. I just wondered if you had any ideas about a wedding present? I’ve seen some lovely china... The Professor says I should make it a surprise, but perhaps there’s something you would like to choose? A dinner set, or something for the house? Will you think about it and let me know?’

  She rang off presently, Emma’s thanks ringing in her ears. But she forgot that immediately. What a fool she had been; with her stupid outburst yesterday evening she had destroyed any chance of Thomas ever falling in love with her. He must despise her. They would have to go on living together, outwardly friendly, while she ate her heart out for him, and he would treat her with a distant courtesy which would chill her to the bone.

  She suddenly couldn’t bear it any longer. Thomas would be at his consulting rooms until ten o’clock; she picked up the phone and dialled.

  Mrs Truelove answered her. The Professor had just seen a patient. If Mrs Tait-Bullen would wait a second, she would get him to come to the phone before she ushered in the next one. She came back to the phone very quickly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, the Professor asked me to say that
he is unable to talk to you at the moment. I was also to tell you that he would be late home this evening and that you weren’t to wait up for him.’

  The dear soul sounded worried, and Claudia hastened to say that it wasn’t important and that she had expected him not to be home early. ‘It was nothing important,’ she added, ‘really, it wasn’t.’ As though repeating it would convince her, as well as Mrs Truelove.

  Her normal common sense had been taken over by a kind of recklessness. To stay quietly at home waiting for his return and then probably be met by his cold stare and refusal to talk was impossible. She swept upstairs, changed into a tweed skirt, a sweater and the leather jacket, pulled on boots, found scarf, gloves and a handbag and went in search of Cork.

  ‘I’d like to go for a drive in the Mini,’ she told him. ‘Would you fetch it round from the garage for me, Cork, while I take Harvey for a quick walk?’

  Cork put down the silver he was polishing. The Mini lived in the garage in the mews behind the house, for his use and as a second car if it was needed. It was kept in good order, ready for the road at a moment’s notice, and there was no reason why Claudia shouldn’t drive it. All the same, he felt doubtful.

  ‘I could drive you, madam. The traffic’s very heavy...’

  ‘I’ve been driving for years,’ Claudia told him, which wasn’t true; she had used Great-Uncle William’s old car from time to time, driving him to friends, before he took to his bed, and her mother to the nearest supermarket, but now fright and rage and bitter unhappiness had made her pot valiant. ‘I won’t take Harvey. I’ve had a message to say that the Professor won’t be back until very late this evening, so something on a tray will suit me. I’ll be out to lunch.’

  She fastened Harvey’s lead, gave Cork a reassuring smile and went for a brisk walk, going over in her mind the route she must take to get her onto the motorway. It was still early, and the morning rush was at its height, but it was coming into the city; traffic going out of it would be much lighter.

  When she got back Cork had the Mini at the door. He was still uneasy, but he received Harvey, begged her to take care as she drove away and went indoors. He wasn’t a man to say much, but he voiced his doubts to Mrs Rumbold.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Cork,’ said that lady comfortably. ‘You just said she’d had a message about him not being home early. Like as not she told him where she was going.’

  Cork took comfort from that. At least Claudia had looked confident as she had driven away.

  She might have looked confident, but several times during the next hour she wished herself anywhere but behind the wheel of the Mini. She was a good driver, but London traffic was something she hadn’t had to deal with, and it was daunting. Only the despairing urge to get away from Thomas as far as possible kept her going.

  She followed the route Thomas had taken, driving steadily, thankful at last to turn into the country roads from the motorway. It was after midday when she turned the little car from Child Okeford’s main street and down the lane to Christmas Cottage.

  The dry morning had clouded over, and it was drizzling. The cottage looked forlorn, although she could hear voices from within. She got out of the car and opened the front door.

  There were several men working there and she stood, forgetful of her worries for a moment, marvelling at the amount of work which had been done. The walls were plastered and the woodwork painted, and two men were laying an oak floor in the sitting room.

  She wished them good afternoon, told them who she was and asked if she would be in the way if she looked round.

  No one minded, and one of the men led her from room to room, pointing out what had been done and what was still needed.

  The plumbing was done, he pointed out, but none of the bathroom fitments had arrived yet. ‘Nor yet the stuff your husband ordered for the kitchen.’

  ‘You’ve been so quick...’

  ‘Well, seeing as how there’s not much work around at this time of year, and us being paid on the nail, we got started right away. Staying in the village, are you, missus?’

  She crossed her fingers and fibbed. ‘No, I just came down to have a look on the way to visit my mother. I expect my husband and I will be coming down at the weekend if he’s free.’

  ‘Busy man, isn’t he? The house agent told us he is a famous doctor.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ She couldn’t bear to think of Thomas. ‘Look, I’m going to the pub for lunch, and then I want to look round the village. What time do you go?’

  ‘We’ll pack up as soon as the flooring’s down—can’t do much outside with this rain. About three o’clock, I should say.’

  ‘Well, if I’m not back before you go, thank you for letting me see round. I’ve a key, but you’ll lock up, won’t you? The car won’t be in the way if I leave it there? I’d like to have a walk.’

  ‘Right you are, missus.’

  They parted the best of friends, and Claudia went back to the village main street and went into the pub. It was almost two o’clock, but the landlord found coffee and sandwiches for her and, when she told him who she was, came and sat at the table while she ate, giving her a friendly insight into the village and the people who lived there. By the time she had finished her leisurely meal it was already dusk, and almost three o’clock.

  She made her way back to the cottage and found the men loading their van, ready to leave. It was obvious they expected her to leave, too, so she got into the Mini, reversed it into the lane so that the van could pass and waved them on. She stayed where she was, though, until they had been gone for a few minutes, then drove back and parked the car at the side of the cottage, found the key and went in.

  The electricity had been turned on, but there was only one naked bulb in the kitchen. Someone had left an old wooden chair there and she sat down. Her sudden spurt of recklessness had worn itself out. She had been a fool to come, but she had wanted to see the place where she had hoped that they were going to be happy. She hadn’t thought beyond that. ‘I’ll sit here for a bit,’ she said out loud, ‘and presently I’ll drive back. Perhaps Thomas will let me explain.’

  * * *

  MR TAIT-BULLEN SAW the last of his private patients out, got into his car and went to the hospital, where he had a clinic and ward round waiting for him. He would be finished by teatime, and then he would go home and he and Claudia could talk. There was a great deal to be talked about. Their sensible marriage wasn’t working out; after only a few short weeks she had let him see that she didn’t trust him. All the same, he was going to tell her that he loved her...

  The ward round went smoothly, and the clinic wasn’t quite as busy as usual. He saw his new patients, giving them his meticulous attention, and then, waiting for the first of his old patients, he phoned Cork.

  ‘Is Mrs Tait-Bullen home, Cork?’

  ‘Sir—a good thing you called. I was getting that worried. She took the Mini early this morning, and said she wouldn’t be back for lunch. Didn’t say where she was going.’

  ‘Took the Mini? Did she seem upset, Cork?’

  ‘Worked up, as it were, sir. Left Harvey with me, said you wouldn’t be home until late, and that she’d have something on a tray.’

  ‘I see, Cork. I’ll be home as soon as I can. She may have decided to go and see her mother. Phone Mrs Willis, will you, and find out? Don’t ring me here as I shall leave as soon as I can.’

  He put the phone down, deliberately dismissing Claudia from his mind while he looked through the patients’ notes to see if there was anyone whom he should see. There wasn’t; he could safely leave them to the registrar.

  It was too early for the evening rush hour, and he took shortcuts.

  Cork was hovering in the hall when he went in, and said at once, ‘She’s not at Mrs Willis’s. I shouldn’t have let her go.’

  Thomas gave him a reassuring
pat on the shoulder. ‘Nonsense, Cork. You weren’t to know that she would be gone for so long. Besides, I think I know where she is.’

  Cork brightened. ‘You do, sir? I’ll get your tea...’

  ‘Later, Cork. I’ll bring her back in the car. The Mini can be fetched later.’

  Mr Tait-Bullen drove out of London a good deal faster than Claudia had done, and once on the motorway put his large, well-shod foot down, sliding past traffic, a sleek, dark shadow, there one minute, miles away the next. He had taken time to go to Claudia’s room before he left the house, and had seen with satisfaction that she had taken no clothes with her. Indeed, all the usual things a girl would put carefully into her handbag before a day out were strewn on the dressing table. Her driving licence was there, too. He had smiled when he saw it. His Claudia had left the house without her usual common sense.

  He was forced to slow down once he left the motorway; all the same he made the journey in record time. He slid the car slowly up the lane and its lights showed him the Mini. He turned off his own lights and got out of the car, and saw the faint glow of light from the kitchen. He had brought Harvey with him; now he tucked the little beast under one arm, one hand over his muzzle to muffle his bark, and went into the house.

  Claudia was still on the wooden chair. She was sitting very untidily and she was fast asleep, her head at an awkward angle. She would be stiff and cramped when she woke.

  He stood looking at her, loving her very much, and Harvey, suddenly realising who it was sitting there, gave a small, pleased yelp. Claudia opened her eyes.

  She stared up at Thomas for a few moments, eased her stiff neck away from the chair and said in a wondering voice, ‘Thomas, dear Thomas. I thought I’d never see you again.’

  He put Harvey down then, and stooped and swept her into his arms. He was tired, and he had been very worried, but now that didn’t matter. He said slowly, ‘You said “dear Thomas”...’

  ‘Well, you are. Only I didn’t know, and now it’s all such an awful muddle...’