by Betty Neels
Deborah found herself in a hot bath, drinking brandy from the glass Mrs Buckle was proffering. ‘I didn’t have any tea, I shall be tight…’
Mrs Buckle urged her to drink it all. ‘You get yourself dried, madam dear, and I’ll fetch up a tray of tea at once. You can have it before you go down stairs. Dinner is put back half an hour so that the professor can change his clothes and see to the dogs.’
The brandy had set up a pleasant glow and, moreover, given her a lovely don’t-care feeling. Deborah did as she was told, and buttoned cosily into a russet velvet housecoat, emptied the teapot, and then, urged on by Mrs Buckle, went down stairs to the drawing room.
Gideon was standing in front of the fire with the dogs lying on the rug. He looked at her without speaking when she went in and she stopped just inside the door.
‘I wouldn’t have come down like this, but Mrs Buckle said you expected me… I—I won’t stay.’
He smiled thinly. ‘Afraid of me, Deborah?’
‘Certainly not. I’d have stayed upstairs if I was. I expect you want to read me a lecture, so do get it off your chest, I don’t expect it’ll make much impression on me because I’ve drunk rather a lot of brandy and I feel a little light headed.’ She was finding it much easier than she had expected thanks to the brandy and she added airily: ‘I’m sorry your evening has been spoilt but I expect you can arrange another one; although she must be very much in demand.’
A kind of spasm swept over the professor’s handsome features. ‘Oh undoubtedly,’ he agreed quietly.
‘Well, it must be a bore for you having to come home instead of having an evening out,’ went on Deborah kindly, egged on by the brandy, ‘but I’m glad you did because I don’t know what would have happened to the dogs.’
She came a little further into the room and sat down. ‘I’m ready.’
Gideon bit back a laugh. ‘I have no intention of blaming you, Deborah. I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic when I found you—I was—er—worried.’
‘I expect you were; a whole evening spoilt.’
He let that pass. ‘You were very brave to stay there with the dogs—did it not enter your head to try and find a way out of the wood alone?’
‘Alone? Without the dogs? Don’t be silly, Gideon.’
He went over to the sofa table and filled a glass and gave it to her.
‘You’re right—I am silly—so silly that I haven’t seen something right under my nose these past weeks.’
She said hastily: ‘Oh, you’re not all that silly really—I shouldn’t have said that. I think you must be a very clever man—Peggy said so, besides you have so many friends.’ She added for good measure, ‘And they like you.’
‘Do you like me, Deborah?’
She took a sip from her glass. ‘Well, you know I do.’ She was pleased to hear how coolly friendly her voice sounded. ‘I wouldn’t have married you if I hadn’t liked you.’
‘But the first time I asked you, you refused me out of hand. What made you change your mind I wonder?’
Her eyes flew to his face. ‘You said you wouldn’t ask me that.’
‘Ah yes, I was forgetting. I phoned Eleanor while you were upstairs; she sent her love—she misses you.’
‘She misses you too when you are not at home.’
He turned away to put his glass on the table. ‘But that’s why I married you, wasn’t it, Deborah?’ She didn’t answer and he said briskly: ‘Well, shall we have dinner?’
She had no appetite but she did her best, and made conversation when Buckle was in the room, lapsing into silence the moment he was out of it. Over coffee she asked: ‘Are you staying tonight, Gideon?’
‘But of course. I’ll have to be in town tomorrow afternoon, but I’ll go over to Peggy’s and fetch Eleanor back for lunch, Peggy can come some other day.’
She nodded, thinking how delightful it was, sitting opposite him by the fire. She put down her coffee cup and sat back comfortably, feeling drowsy. A little too full of brandy and sherry and the glass of wine she had had with her dinner, she allowed her careful pretence to slip and smiled at Gideon, her face made beautiful by love. The next moment she was almost asleep. Gideon sat watching her; Buckle came in, removed the tray soundlessly and crept out again; an hour later he returned, it was, after all, almost eleven o’clock and time to lock up for the night.
‘Come back in ten minutes, Buckle,’ the professor said quietly, ‘I’ll carry Mrs Beaufort upstairs—she’s tired out.’
‘Mrs Buckle wanted to know if madam would want anything for the night?’ whispered Buckle, ‘she’s in the kitchen…’
‘Very kind of her, but I fancy sleep is the only thing my wife needs.’
He sat a little longer after Buckle had gone and then got up, scooped Deborah up gently and carried her upstairs and into her room. He stood for a minute looking down at her, her sandy hair spread over her shoulder, still deeply asleep, indeed snoring in a faint ladylike manner.
She didn’t stir as he laid her on the bed and pulled the quilt over her, arranging her hair neatly on the pillow and then stooping to kiss her gently. She looked enchanting and he paused to admire her curling eyelashes before he went quietly to the door, turning out all the lights except the small lamps on either side of the bed. He went back again and poured water into a glass and left it within reach; she would probably wake with a blinding headache.
CHAPTER NINE
DEBORAH WOKE in the very early hours of the morning with a mild headache and a raging thirst. Still half asleep, she sat up in bed, drank the water Gideon had so thoughtfully left for her, wondered for about fifty seconds why she was still in her housecoat and then turned over and went to sleep again. When she woke again it was to find Molly, the daily housemaid, drawing back the curtains, and her tea tray on the bedside table. Her headache had gone and as she drank her tea she recalled the previous evening. Someone had carried her up to bed and since neither Mrs Buckle nor Buckle were physically capable of that, it must have been Gideon. She sighed; no wonder he stayed in London if she had so little to offer in the way of companionship. Just how unglamorous can I get? she asked herself crossly, snoring my head off in a dressing gown. The thought sent her out of bed, to shower and dress in a dashing pleated skirt with a matching waistcoat over a silk shirt which had cost the earth and was worth every penny. And because she wanted to get down to breakfast quickly she tied her hair back with a ribbon and hurried downstairs.
Gideon was standing with his back to the fire, the dogs at his feet. His good-morning was affable and when she thanked him rather diffidently for seeing her safely into her bed, he shrugged. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he told her lightly. Over breakfast he asked her if she had any plans for the next few days.
‘Why no—well, shopping for Christmas, but nothing arranged.’
‘Good. I’m taking a few days off. I’ll be back tonight—but late—don’t wait up. If you like we could drive over and see Mother tomorrow and leave Eleanor for a couple of days. She likes to stay with her Granny and do her shopping.’
‘Yes, of course. Does she know?’
‘I’ll tell her this morning—have you any messages for Peggy?’
‘Only my love and thanks for having Eleanor.’
He was back with Eleanor before lunch, a meal he didn’t stay for. ‘No time,’ he observed, ‘I must be at the office by half-past two and it’s already well past eleven o’clock.’ He kissed Eleanor and then crossed the room to touch Deborah’s cheek briefly. ‘We’ll leave after breakfast in the morning—will you pack a few things for Eleanor? Oh, and if you take the dogs for a walk this evening, take a torch and keep to the lanes.’
She heard him come home very late that evening, entering the house very quietly, pausing in the hall where Buckle had put a tray with a thermos jug of coffee on the side table, and then going to his study. She stayed awake until she heard him come upstairs twenty minutes later; only then did she curl up and go to sleep.
The dogs went with th
em in the morning, crowding into the back of the Bentley with Eleanor while Deborah sat beside Gideon. The little girl did most of the talking; planning her shopping, excited that she was to visit Mrs Beaufort, describing the shops in Milsom Street and what she intended to buy. She and Deborah were still deep in a friendly argument as to the best colour to choose for a scarf for Mrs Buckle when they reached Mrs Beaufort’s house.
They received a warm welcome. ‘Never felt better in my life!’ declared Mrs Beaufort in answer to Deborah’s enquiries. ‘Let’s have coffee first then you shall go to your room, Eleanor—the same one as usual. I daresay Deborah will help you to unpack.’
Presently, when the unpacking was done, they went downstairs again. Deborah saw that mother and son were deep in conversation, so she suggested at once that she and Eleanor should take the dogs into the garden. It was a cold morning but brightened by thin sunshine, she put on her brown top coat, tied a scarf round her head, buttoned Eleanor into her coat, and went outdoors, where they threw twigs for the dogs and ran races over the grass.
Gideon, sitting facing the windows, watched the distant figures and presently his mother stopped in mid-sentence and smiled because he didn’t notice her silence. ‘It is delightful to see little Eleanor so happy,’ she remarked in a mild voice. ‘Such a change in the child—she loves her stepmother, doesn’t she?’ She picked up her embroidery from the table beside her chair. There were other questions she would have liked to have asked, but a quick glance at her son’s expressionless face stopped her. ‘What are your plans for Christmas?’ she asked cheerfully, ‘I hear that you had friends for the weekend—perhaps you plan a houseparty?’
He shook his head, not looking away from the window. ‘No—I don’t know, Mother…’
And that, thought Mrs Beaufort, was so unlike Gideon’s well ordered life, something, or someone, must have thrown him off balance. She followed his gaze out of the window, to where Deborah and Eleanor were standing arm in arm, laughing their heads off about something or other, and smiled gently.
They left the little girl with her grandmother after lunch, and started on the drive back to Tollard Royal. The short day was losing its brightness already and there was a nip in the air. Deborah, snug in her coat, settled back beside Gideon. It had been a pleasant lunch and they had all laughed a lot and Gideon had teased Eleanor gently and she had giggled and cheeked him back; it was hard to think of her as the rather solemn little girl she had first known, and her grandmother had noticed it too, for she had said as she kissed Deborah good-bye: ‘What miracles you have done for that child, Deborah—she’s really happy. I do hope you’re just as happy, dear.’
Deborah thought about that as they drove along. It seemed impossible to be happy and unhappy at the same time, but she was; happy to be with Gideon, however briefly, happy to be his wife, even if she wasn’t, happy to have Eleanor and a lovely home. And unhappy because she meant so little to him. Oh, he liked her all right, he had even once or twice since she had started to dress well, looked at her with a look of surprise on his face, as though he’d never really seen her before. Not that she could ever hope to compete with Lady Barbara’s beauty. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try; she had enough money, that thanks to Gideon’s generosity. She heaved a small sigh and he said gently: ‘What’s the matter, Deborah?’
‘Nothing,’ she spoke too quickly.
‘Would you like to stop for tea, or wait until we’re home?’
‘Oh, home, I think—besides Mrs Buckle made you a fruit cake when I told her you’d be home for a day or two.’ She hesitated, ‘But perhaps you’ve plans…’
He said very evenly: ‘Why do you imagine that I find your company so boring that I should wish to leave the house the moment I get back into it?’
‘I don’t—I mean… That is, you’ve lots of friends, people you’ve known for years—shared interests, and—and that sort of thing.’
‘And so, do we have no shared interests?’ His voice was placid but he was driving too fast.
‘Eleanor,’ said Deborah promptly and thought what an awkward conversation they were having. ‘And you love your home and so do I—and the dogs and…’
‘Yes?’ he prompted.
‘I can’t think of anything else at the moment.’
‘A mutual liking?’ He asked blandly.
‘Well, naturally.’
‘Nothing more?’ She mistrusted the silkiness of his voice. She gazed out of the window and wondered what he would say if she told him that she loved him. ‘Nothing more,’ she told him steadily.
After that they didn’t exchange more than a few words, and those quite impersonal. They talked like two strangers over their tea and then the phone rang and he went away to answer it, not coming back. Deborah, anxious to occupy her mind, sat down at the desk in the drawing room and addressed Christmas cards, rang her mother and then went upstairs to tidy herself for the evening. She got back to the drawing room to find Gideon already there with Buckle. They were in their shirt sleeves, erecting a large Christmas tree in the wide bay window at the end of the room and just for the moment she forgot that they weren’t on the best of terms and hurried over to admire it. ‘Oh, how super—shall we decorate it this evening?’
‘Eleanor and I have done it together ever since she was a toddler.’
He spoke pleasantly but she felt her cheeks redden at the snub. All the same she said quickly: ‘Oh, of course—it’ll be ready for her to help you when she gets home. It’s a magnificent tree.’
‘We have left our plans for Christmas rather late this year, but the tree is something we can’t overlook.’
Buckle murmured something and Gideon replied with a cheerful: ‘Well, since I’m at home for a couple of days, I daresay we can get organized. We’ll have to have some friends in for drinks.’ He glanced across to where Deborah was standing uncertainly, watching them. ‘There are half a dozen invitations in today’s post—they are on my desk if you would like to look through them?’
He stood back, surveying his handiwork with Buckle beside him. ‘We’re just about finished here—I’ll be back to pour our drinks in ten minutes or so.’
She went along to the study, feeling like a child who’d been dismissed back to the schoolroom. And yet Gideon hadn’t actually said anything unkind; merely put her where she supposed she belonged—in the outer perimeter of his life. She went over to his desk and picked up the little pile of cards and looked at the first one, not seeing a word because her eyes were full of tears. She hadn’t thought it would be like this, being held at arm’s length, reminded, oh, so politely, that he had married her for Eleanor’s sake and for no other reason. She even doubted now if he liked her; hadn’t he called her a fool that evening when she had got lost in the wood—his voice had been rough, and he’d been angry although later he had been kind enough.
She was shaken out of her dreary, depressing thoughts by the opening of the door, and before she had time to wipe away her tears, Gideon was beside her.
He had seen them, of course, although she had turned away her head. He took the cards from her and laid them on the desk. ‘Now why should a handful of invitations make you cry?’ he wanted to know.
Because she wasn’t looking at him she didn’t see the gleam in his eyes and since his voice was calmly deliberate and nothing more she was filled with icy despair. ‘Nothing,’ she mumbled, and then, like a child, ‘I should like to go to Dorchester…’
She didn’t see his bitter little smile, either. ‘Running home to mother, dear?’
He had never called her that. She wished with all her heart that she was his dear. ‘No, Gideon—only if you wanted me to go…’
The gleam in his eyes turned into a blaze. ‘How long have we been married?’ he wanted to know, ‘A couple of weeks—not much more…’
She didn’t answer although she could have told him down to the last minute.
‘And you think that I am regretting our marriage already?’
Deborah had mastered the tears except for an odd sniff or so. ‘Perhaps. You see, in theory it was a splendid idea, and I know that Eleanor is happy now, and that’s what you wanted, didn’t you? But in practice I don’t fit in, do I? Your friends… They’re clever and witty and I don’t know them.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t compete.’
‘With what or whom?’ He interrupted.
‘Everything,’ she said simply. ‘This!’ She swept an arm around the handsome, solidly furnished room. ‘Money, comfort, your lovely house, driving around in a Bentley,’ and because she was an honest girl ‘and Lady Barbara Inge…’
The professor said ‘Ha!’ in a fierce voice, ‘and now we come to the root of the matter. Could it possibly be that you are jealous, Debby?’
She made an instant denial, not looking at him. ‘That’s ridiculous, how could I be jealous when I don’t—that is—there has to be a reason…’
‘You’re very mealy mouthed all of a sudden. What you haven’t the nerve to say is that one has to love someone to be jealous of them.’ His voice was silky. ‘I’m sure you must agree with me.’
‘Yes—no, I don’t know.’ She could feel the tears crowding into her throat again. She whispered: ‘Please could we not talk about it any more?’ And fate for once gave her a helping hand in the shape of Buckle, coming to warn them that dinner had been ready to serve for the last ten minutes, adding reproachfully: ‘I sounded the gong madam.’
‘Oh, Buckle, we’re so sorry—we just didn’t hear it.’ She slipped past him and into the dining room with Gideon silent beside her and nibbled at Mrs Buckle’s excellent dinner without really eating anything, carrying on a half witted conversation at the same time. She was only vaguely aware of what she was talking about, but anything was better than silence. True, after a while Gideon responded, egging her on gently, the corners of his rather grim mouth twitching. She was quite worn out by the time they left the table, her head empty of words, for the life of her she was unable to stop the relieved sigh when he told her that he had some work to do and would go to the study. He heard it and stopped on his way from the room saying curtly: ‘I shall be working late—we shall see each other at breakfast. Goodnight, Deborah.’
