“I hope you aren’t going to hate me for this?” she said.
“You have been very foolish, Willow, and very naughty,” said Miss Balfour, but her tone was much gentler than her words. “Try to rest, and I will go and see about some soup for you.”
She could not bring herself to sympathize with Willow over the loss of this most undesirable young man, or to condone her behaviour, and she went away, leaving Willow, exhausted with emotion and distress, lying with closed eyes. A tear or two trickled from under her eyelids, but she lay still, content not to think any more for the moment.
Downstairs, Miss Balfour found Edna in the dining-room, and explained briefly that Mrs. Harper was tired and was lying on the drawing-room sofa as her own fire was not lighted.
“If you will beat up some of the chicken soup, Edna, and make a piece of thin crisp toast, and bring it up, it will do her good,” she said.
Edna, willing and obliging creature that she was, was only too ready to do it, and was on the point of going down to the kitchen when the front-door bell rang.
“Oh, dear! I don’t want Mrs. Harper disturbed,” said Miss Balfour. “If it is a caller—though I don’t see how it can be at seven o’clock at night!—show them into the dining-room, Edna.”
She went in there herself and waited. Presently Edna came in to say it was a gentleman asking for Mrs. Harper.
“Ever so handsome he is’m,” she said, with thoughts of film stars surging in her head.
Miss Balfour felt certain that she knew who this handsome gentleman was.
“Show him in here, Edna,” she said. “And remember, handsome is as handsome does.”
“Yes,’m,” replied Edna, dutifully, but with regret, and in a moment a tall undeniably good-looking young man came into the room.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s been some mistake,” he said, pleasantly. “I didn’t want to trouble you. I asked for Mrs. Harper. Is she in?”
“She is in, Mr. Grant, but I think you had better not see her,” said Miss Balfour, calmly.
She was suddenly and irrationally glad that she was wearing one of the new dresses chosen with Mrs. Lenox’s help, a soft wool garment of excellent cut and a becoming deep purple in colour. The young man, though they had met at the Lenox girls’ party, obviously did not recognize or remember her.
“I think she will want to see me,” he persisted, not quite so pleasantly, for he was unused to being thwarted.
“No. She is much too tired, and in her present condition she ought not to be worried,” said Miss Balfour. She had no scruples about mentioning the baby, she found.
He stared at her, angry and perplexed.
“Perhaps you didn’t know that Mrs. Harper is going to have a baby?” said Miss Balfour.
“A baby! Good Lord! No, I didn’t know. I—I—well, perhaps after all, I’d better not disturb her,” he stammered, for once shaken out of his easy self-assurance. “Just say good-bye to her from me, will you? I’m off to-morrow, you see.”
“Mr. Grant,” said Miss Balfour. “I believe you have already said good-bye to her, have you not? I am sure you don’t really want me to give her any message.”
“No. You’re right. I don’t,” he said, hurriedly. “I’ll be off. Good night.”
And he turned and dashed into the hall, dragged open the heavy front door and was gone.
“A good riddance,” observed Miss Balfour.
As she went upstairs again, she suddenly thought how appalled Belle would have been if she could have heard her coolly telling a young man about Willow’s baby, and she chuckled.
“Poor Belle,” she murmured. “She would be horrified by a good many things about me if she could see me now!”
She found Willow sitting bolt upright clutching the rug to her and looking scared.
“It was Micky, wasn’t it?” she said, as soon as Miss Balfour opened the door. “Oh, don’t let him come up! I really couldn’t bear to see him!”
“It is quite all right. He has gone away,” said Miss Balfour, firmly. “Now lie down again and don’t be silly, my dear. He won’t come back, I promise you.”
“How did you get him to go?” asked Willow, but she lay down and let Miss Balfour tuck the rug round her.
“I just told him about the baby. That settled it,” said Miss Balfour cheerfully.
“He—he fled?”
“He fled,” agreed Miss Balfour, with an emphatic nod.
“I’m not surprised,” Willow said, mournfully.
“Nor was I. He really isn’t worth making yourself ill over, my dear,” said Miss Balfour. “Your husband is worth six of him.”
“Oh, I know. Only—only it’s hard to put him out of my mind all in a minute,” Willow said, rather piteously. “I am trying.”
“Think about the baby,” was Miss Balfour’s advice. “And don’t think about men at all, not even your husband, lust now.”
“I expect the baby will be twin boys,” said Willow, but she smiled, though faintly, and Miss Balfour felt that it would not be very long before her spirits recovered.
CHAPTER 20
The news that Willow was going to have a baby was received by her family with much pleasure and excitement.
Mrs. Lenox was relieved as well as delighted. Now Willow would settle down properly at last, and there would be no more mysterious absences from her flat. The only thing that troubled her was the very practical consideration that a baby in a top flat would be rather difficult.
“Such a long way down to the green with all the washing every day,” as she said. “And though I’m sure Miss Dorothea will let you keep the pram in the hall, it will mean carrying the baby up and down all those stairs.”
Willow only smiled. She had gained a serene composure during the past few days, and if there were faint blue shadows under her eyes and a slight hollowing below her cheek-bones, this was merely put down to the baby.
“Don’t worry, Mummy,” she said.
“We have a long time to think about it still! And these rooms up at the top are so light and airy, I think it’s worth the stairs. We can see what Archie says. He’ll be home for Christmas.”
The younger Lenoxes each took it differently. Murray professed himself to be highly diverted, but privately, and after making some careful calculations, he opened a Savings Bank account for his future nephew or niece, into which he intended to pay a certain proportion of his salary each month.
Rowan started to knit a trousseau for the baby which would surpass anything that a baby had ever had.
Holly appeared to be completely overwhelmed with amazement that such a thing should be going to happen in her family.
“It’s quite a common occurrence, you know,” as Murray said, breaking in on her loud exclamatory remarks.
“Mummy will be a grandmother!” Holly went on, paying no attention to her brother. “And Murray will be an uncle! Oh, and I’ll be an aunt!” Her voice rose to a triumphant squeal. “And so will Hazel and Rowan. Aunt Hazel, Aunt Rowan, Aunt Holly! Doesn’t it sound silly?”
“Not half so silly as you do, Auntie Holl,” said Murray, unkindly. “For Heaven’s sake, stop yelling and be your age. You’re enough to make Willow have a miscarriage.”
“Murray, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Lenox, but the others only laughed, and Willow, by asking Holly if she would like to be a godmother, reduced that young person to a silence of stunned gratification.
“Aunt Hazel’s keeping very quiet about the Happy Event, isn’t she?” said Murray.
“I haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgeways,” Hazel said, mildly.
“It’s a blessing there’s one quiet one in this noisy family,” said Willow. “I must go, Mummy. Come in and see me, all of you, any time.”
When Mrs. Lenox had gone to the door with Willow to give her some final injunctions about not doing too much, and the others had scattered on their own various affairs, Hazel remained sitting on the low stool beside the fire, thinking.
She wasn�
��t envious of Willow, but she wondered if her own fate was always to be “Aunt Hazel” to the others’ children. It looked very like it, she thought. In her own mind she was quite certain that she would never love anyone but Adam Ferrier, and therefore she would never marry.
The worst of it, to her mind, was that her job had become a grind. She had no interest any longer in the chatter of the other girls, in Christine’s devastating affairs of the heart, or even in the patients.
Everything was disagreeable, including the weather, for it was a horrible grey afternoon, with a “haar”, that east coast sea-mist, creeping in from the Forth and blotting out all the familiar landmarks.
“Me for an evening by the fire with a good love story and a bag of peppermint creams,” said Christine Rennie, after a shuddering look at the gloom outside. “I shan’t go out to-night no matter who asks me!”
“I suppose by that you mean that no one has,” said one of the others.
Christine tossed her fiery head. “That’s all you know,” she answered.
The prospect of sitting at home until bed-time suddenly filled Hazel with boredom. She decided to go to the pictures, and having rung up her mother to say she would not be in to supper, powdered her nose, put on hat and coat, and left with the rest.
Instead of eating in one of the tea-rooms along Princes Street as usual, she went boldly into a small restaurant which was half a bar, and ordered a gin and lime before her meal.
“If I’ve got to go about without a male escort,” she told herself, defiantly, as she sipped her drink, “I’d better get accustomed to coming to this sort of place alone.”
It was a strange little place, with red plush seats against the walls, weary palms in pots too small for them, and a good many fly-spotted mirrors, but the fried fish and chips came piping hot and very well cooked, and there was a large rack of freshly made toast and plenty of butter. Hazel shut her eyes to the defects and ate a good meal.
She enjoyed the film too. It was How to Marry a Millionaire, and was so wildly improbable that she forgot real life and her job and Adam, while she laughed at it.
A wind had risen and blown away the haar when Hazel emerged, blinking, into Princes Street. Stars were pricking the dark sky, and against it the great mass of the Castle on its rock rose black. Tower and wall and battery were outlined clearly, all the buildings which by daylight looked commonplace were lent a strange beauty.
There were not many people about. She met one or two elderly men giving their dogs a bed-time trot, and a little knot of girls in Guide uniform, talking about the meeting they had just left. In a dark entrance a boy and girl stood close together, her head on his shoulder, his arm round her waist. An occasional car purred past like some enormous jungle beast, its lights searching the street before it. The air was chill and had a smell of frost, and even Hazel’s light tread made the pavements ring as she walked.
When it seemed to have reached the bottom of the hill the road divided, and Hazel’s way lay to the left, round a sharp bend and plunging down a farther slope between dark gardens. Behind them on either side of the road lay terraces of quiet houses, but a stone’s throw down the hill light and noise streamed up to meet and bewilder the oncoming walker.
Hazel had almost reached the bridge spanning the Water of Leith, when she caught up with an elderly man who was having some difficulty in walking straight.
As she passed him he collided with her, and at once raised his hat, saying with drunken gravity:—“Thousand—’polologies, m’dear. A little giddy this evening.”
“Mr. Milner!” said Hazel.
“Call me Monty,” he replied, staring at her owlishly, his hat on the back of his head. “All frien’s call me Monty.”
Hazel did not hesitate. She took his arm, and saying firmly, “You must see me home, Mr. Milner,” tried to urge him on across the bridge.
It was not an easy task. Mr. Milner, though only an inch or so taller than Hazel, was solidly built, not to say rotund, and his legs described such peculiar circles as he progressed that she felt she was arm in arm with Humpty Dumpty himself.
Fortunately they had not far to go, but she did wish that he would not stop so often to assure her of his intention to see her safely home.
This had happened for the fifth time, when a young man came up at a great pace, seized Mr. Milner by the coat-collar, and tried to detach him from Hazel’s arm.
“You old blackguard! What do you mean by annoying this young lady?” he exclaimed, in a low but furious tone. “I’ve a good mind to hand you over to the nearest policeman!”
“Oh, Adam!” cried Hazel. “Please let him go! It’s only Mr. Milner, and I’m trying to get him home! Don’t shake the poor old thing like that!”
Adam Ferrier, still retaining his hold on his victim, looked at him closely.
“Good Lord! It’s the old boy from next door to you, isn’t it? Charles’s client—”
“Thank you to take your handsoffme, young man,” said Mr. Milner, in a rush. “Ol’ boy, indeed! Seeing young lady home, an’ you come bombarging in—”
“That’s a good word, bombarging,” said Adam, and released him, so that, deprived of support, Mr. Milner had to cling to a convenient lamp-post. “Well, what are we to do with the old so-and-so?”
“If you could help me to take him home to Number Four?” said Hazel, doubtfully.
“Of course. I’ll do it myself, and you can go on ahead,” Adam said.
But Hazel would not do this. She wanted, she explained, to try to get Mr. Milner into the house and if possible to his own room without disturbing his sister-in-law.
“Right. Let’s get under way,” said Adam, briefly. “An arm each, that’ll be best.”
So with Mr. Milner sagging between them, the two went on towards Kirkaldy Crescent.
Now that Hazel had some of the responsibility for Mr. Milner, not to speak of his weight, taken off her, she had time to wonder why Adam was in this part of the town at all; and because the whole evening had turned into such a strange adventure, she was able to ask him point-blank.
“What are you doing down here, Adam?”
“Oh—I—well—” he began, glancing at her above their charge’s head.
Then he seemed to make up his mind. “All right, I may as well tell you just what a fool I am,” he said. “I was looking at your house. I didn’t know you were out.”
This, though spoken in a tone of savage self-mockery, sounded to Hazel like all the great lovers of history talking together.
“Oh, Adam!” she said, softly. “You weren’t really, were you?”
“I was. And I know you’ve done with me, and I don’t blame you,” he said. “But I want you to know that I can’t do without you and be either happy or useful. I daresay I’ll get along somehow, but—”
“Why are you so sure that I’ve done with you?” asked Hazel. “I thought you were finished with me.”
“Could we start again?” he said. “Would you, Hazel? Hazel, my darling, would you?”
Hazel shook her head. “I’d rather just go on from where we left off,” she answered, amazed at her own boldness.
“Oh, Hazel!”
“Oh, Adam!”
“Oh, for goodenssake, lesh get home!” muttered the third member of the party, startling them considerably, since they had forgotten his existence for the time being.
“Whatsh use slip-slopping an’ Oh-ing, eh?” continued Mr. Milner, now stumbling forward almost at a run. “Why dontcher k-kish her, silly fool?”
“Because you’re in the way, old boy,” replied Adam. “Just wait till we’ve got rid of you, that’s all.”
Hazel, pink to the roots of her hair, hurried along, half-longing for, half-dreading the moment when she would be alone with Adam. The dark sky and houses, the lamp-lit street, the rather dirty pavement and the drab passers-by were all alike invisible to her. She was walking in a magic forest with Adam, and everything had been put right with hardly a word said.
“I
f it hadn’t been for Mr. Milner, poor dear old pet, we’d still be unhappy,” she thought and hugged the arm she held.
Adam, being a man, did not rate Montagu’s assistance quite so highly, but he was willing to concede that having to lug the old rip home like a sack of potatoes had certainly broken the ice.
“We’ll have to be awfully quiet,” murmured Hazel, when they had manoeuvred Mr. Milner up the steps of Number Four Kirkaldy Crescent at last. “Miss Dorothea hasn’t gone to bed, there’s a light in the drawing-room.”
“Where’s your key?” said Adam to Mr. Milner, in a low voice.
“Key? Key? Aha, you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” said Mr. Milner, roguishly, and to their anxious ears much too loudly.
“Oh, Lord! He’s going to be troublesome,” muttered Adam. “Don’t you want to go in?” he went on. “It’s pretty cold out here, isn’t it?”
“Cold, cold. Poor Tom’s a-cold,” said Mr. Milner, mournfully.
“I don’t believe he’s got a key at all,” said Hazel, suddenly, and this proved to be the right line to take, for Mr. Milner, sitting down on the stone doorstep, pulled a mass of small objects from his overcoat pocket. There was a slight metallic sound, and the key fell down into the area.
Adam, with a groan, went and retrieved it, after which it was simple enough to open the door.
To induce Mr. Milner to enter, however, was another matter altogether, and was only achieved in the end by Adam’s taking him under the arms and heaving him bodily into the hall.
“His room’s on the ground floor,” whispered Hazel.
“Go ahead and open the door for me,” was Adam’s reply, as he prepared to heave again.
“Oh, darling, don’t hurt yourself,” Hazel breathed, anxiously. The endearment so inspired Adam that he hoisted Mr. Milner to his feet, and half-guiding, half-dragging him, got him across the hall to the door which Hazel had flitted ahead to open.
“I’ll put him to bed if you’ll stand guard in the hall,” was Adam’s next order, and he shut the door, leaving Hazel to go and sit on a large oak chest and wait for him in a happy daze.
He reappeared in a wonderfully short time, and the two tiptoed to the front door and let themselves quietly out.
Near Neighbours Page 20
