Читать книгу Tabitha in Moonlight - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

THE SENIOR medical staff had a car park of their own on the right of the hospital forecourt. It was almost empty at this time of day, for the normal day’s rounds were done and the theatres had finished at four o’clock and it was still too early for any possible extra visits to ill patients. There were only three cars in it, two of which Tabitha instantly recognized; the souped-up Mini Mr Jenkins, the gynae consultant, affected, and the elderly, beautifully kept Austin saloon the radiologist had bought some fifteen years previously and had never found necessary to change. The third car was a Bentley T convertible of a pleasing and unobtrusive shade of grey, in whose driving seat Mr van Beek was lounging. As Tabitha approached he got out, ushered her in to sit beside him and enquired in a friendly voice where Mr Bow lived.

‘About five minutes’ drive,’ said Tabitha, and felt regret that it wasn’t five hours. ‘The quickest way is to turn left into the High Street, down Thomas Street and turn right at the bottom of the hill.’

He let in the clutch. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he enquired mildly.

Tabitha blinked her thick short eyelashes. ‘No,’ she said in a practical voice, ‘but I should think you would be—you must have had a hard day and I don’t expect you want to waste your evening.’ She gave him a brief enquiring look and wondered why he looked amused.

‘No, I don’t intend to,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Is this where we turn right?’

They were almost there; Tabitha wished she were Sue, who would have known how to turn even such a short encounter as this to good advantage. She said a little abruptly: ‘It’s this row of houses—the fourth from the end,’ and even as she spoke he was bringing the car to a gentle halt. They were standing on the doorstep waiting for someone to answer their ring when Tabitha asked: ‘What are we going to say?’

Mr van Beek looked down at her earnest face and said lazily:

‘If you wouldn’t mind just mentioning who I am…’ The door opened and the woman she had seen the previous evening stood in front of them. There was a cigarette dangling from her lip and her hair was caught up in orderly rows of curlers under a pink net. Without removing the cigarette, she said: ‘Hullo, you again,’ and gave Tabitha an unwilling smile which widened when she looked at Mr van Beek.

‘Good evening,’ said Tabitha, ‘I said I should be coming…this is Mr van Beek who wishes to make some arrangement about Mr Bow.’

The woman stood aside willingly enough for them to go in and Mr van Beek thanked her with charm; still with charm but with a faint undertone of command he said: ‘If you will be good enough to come with us—’ and when the woman looked surprised, ‘We intend to pack up Mr Bow’s possessions. He is an old friend of mine and wishes me to arrange for them to be stored; he won’t be coming back here.’

Mr Bow’s landlady bridled as she opened the door. ‘Not coming back, ain’t ’e? I’ll need a week’s rent in lieu—and there’s ’is washing.’

Mr van Beek was standing in the middle of the little room, looking at everything, his face inscrutable. ‘You shall have whatever is owing to you,’ he stated, and there was faint distaste in his quiet voice. ‘Be good enough to tell us which of these things belong to Mr Bow and we will pack them up while you are making out your bill, then you might return, please, and make sure that we have forgotten nothing.’

The woman said carelessly: ‘OK, if that’s ’ow you want it. The silver’s ’is and them pictures and the desk; there’s a case under the bed too.’ She crossed the room to open the drawers in a chest under the window. ‘’Ere’s ’is clothes.’ She went back to the door. ‘Don’t take nothing of mine,’ she cautioned as she went.

Tabitha already had Mr Bow’s case open on the bed. She crossed the room and in her turn, started to investigate the chest of drawers.

‘Poor old gentleman,’ she observed, half to herself, ‘how he must have hated it here.’

Mr van Beek had seated himself upon the table, swinging one long leg and looking around him in a thoughtful manner. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he asked for the second time that evening.

Tabitha had scooped up an armful of clothes. ‘Not really,’ she answered cautiously as she bore them back to the bed. Was he going away to leave her to do all the work? Apparently not.

‘Then do leave that for a moment and sit down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I think that you are a sensible young woman and we have to get Knotty’s future settled, more or less.’

Tabitha put her burden on the bed and perched on the bed beside it, wondering why his opinion of her good sense gave her so little pleasure. She crossed her hands tidily in her lap and said tranquilly: ‘I’m listening.’

He said unexpectedly: ‘You’re a very restful girl. Most women are forever patting their hair or putting on lipstick or peering at themselves in those silly little mirrors they carry around.’

She made no answer. She felt fairly sure that doing all of these things would make little difference to her appearance, but there seemed little point in telling him so, for it was surely something he could see for himself. She suspected that he was a kind man, wishful of putting her at her ease. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and when he got out his pipe and enquired: ‘Do you mind?’ she shook her head, feeling at ease with him.

‘Mr Bow,’ he began, ‘was my science tutor at university. We struck up quite a friendship, for he had known my father when he was alive and had been to our home several times. He was a keen sailor when he was younger—still is, I daresay—and so am I. We did a good deal of sailing together, the pair of us. When I went back to Holland he visited me from time to time, then about five years ago he didn’t answer my letters any more and when I went to his home, no one knew where he was. Each time I came to England I made an effort to find him, but without success, and then, today—there he was.’ He looked round the room. ‘Obviously fallen on bad times, if these few things are all he has left. He’s a proud old man, which probably accounts for his silence and disappearance, and he’ll be difficult to help. When he’s better I think I could persuade him to come home with me for a holiday, but what then?’

Tabitha hadn’t interrupted at all, but now she said: ‘I don’t know where you live, but if it’s a town of any size, could he not teach— English perhaps if he’s to live in Holland—just enough to make him feel independent? I know he’s eighty, but there’s nothing wrong with his brain.’

‘I think you may be right. A holiday first, possibly with one or two others—Bill and Muriel Raynard perhaps. It’s worth going into.’

He got up. ‘Thank you for your suggestion. I believe I’ll act upon it when the time comes. In the meantime we had better see to this stuff.’

Tabitha got to her feet. ‘You’ll need something to put the silver and china into. How about the desk drawers—are they locked?’

He tugged gently. ‘No—if we can get everything into them, I can get someone to collect the desk.’ He roamed around, collecting old newspapers, and started to wrap the silver carefully. Tabitha finished filling the suitcase, closed it, and began on the china. ‘I’ll take the case with me,’ she promised, ‘Mr Bow will want some things later.’ Her eyes lighted on a pile of books in a corner of the room. ‘I’d better take those as well.’

‘No,’ said Mr van Beek positively, ‘I will—and the clothes. I’ll put them in the car and drop them off at the hospital as I go past later on. Do you live close by?’

She thought he had probably had enough of her prosaic company. ‘Oh yes. A few minutes’ walk.’ She added, to make it easier for him: ‘I enjoy walking,’ and when he replied: ‘So do I,’ it wasn’t what she had expected him to say. The appearance of the landlady prevented further conversation and Tabitha sat down on the bed again and listened to Mr van Beek putting the woman in her place with a blandness which most effectively concealed his intention of having his own way, so that she presently went away again, clutching the money he had given her and looking bewildered, for she had gained the impression that he was one of those casual gentlemen who didn’t bother to look at bills, only paid them.

‘The shark!’ observed Tabitha as the door closed upon the lady of the house. ‘I wonder how many times she charged Mr Bow for laundry which never went.’ She got to her feet once more and went round the room, opening and shutting cupboards and drawers to make sure nothing had been overlooked while her companion watched her with a little smile. ‘Nothing,’ she remarked unnecessarily and went to the door, waiting for him. He picked up the case and the books and led the way downstairs and out to the car where she said awkwardly: ‘Well, goodbye, Mr van Beek—I hope your evening…’ She got no further.

‘Get in,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve no intention of leaving you to walk home.’

Tabitha opened her mouth, but before she could utter, he said again: ‘Do get in.’ She did as she was told then, and when he had settled her in the seat beside him, she said: ‘It’s up Thomas Street and left at the traffic lights, straight on past the station, and then the first turning on the left.’

They talked only commonplaces during the short drive and when he drew up outside her flat she prepared to get out immediately, longing to ask him in but deciding against it because he might probably accept out of politeness. He leaned across her and opened the door and said casually:

‘It’s a full round tomorrow, so I’m told—we shall see each other then. Thank you for your help.’

She got out before she answered him. ‘Yes—I’m on for the rounds. I—I was glad to help, although you made it all very easy.’ She smiled, feeling a little shy, and was relieved when Meg flung the house door open and called in her soft voice: ‘There you are, Miss Tabby, late again!’ Which remark made it easy for Tabitha to say: ‘Well, I must go—good night, sir.’ She stood back and he closed the car door, lifted a hand in salute and eased the big car slowly forward and away. She watched it until a bend in the road hid it from sight, then went indoors to answer Meg’s questions.

Mr van Beek arrived dead on time for his ward round, which Tabitha found a refreshing change from Mr Raynard, who had a disconcerting habit of turning up either much too early or so late that the whole ward routine was thrown out of gear. She met the party at the door, looking calm and unruffled and very neat, so that no one looking at her would have believed her if she had recounted just how much work she had already got through, and certainly no one thought to ask; Mr van Beek gave her a pleasant and impersonal good morning and Mr Steele and Tommy Bates, the houseman, had both said ‘Hullo, Tabby,’ which was what they always said. In the ward they would be careful to address her as Sister for the benefit of the patients, which was a waste of time anyway, for she was aware that they all called her Tabby behind her back. As George Steele had once remarked, Tabby was such a cosy name. Tabby had shuddered at his words, glimpsing a perpetual picture of herself getting cosier and cosier over the years until someone, some day, would prefix the Tabby with the word old.

This morning, however, there was no fear of that—indeed, she looked a great deal younger than her twenty-five years, for although her hair was still screwed ruthlessly into its severe bun, there was a pinkness in her cheeks which gave her eyes an added sparkle, although her greeting was sedate enough. She had already done her morning round, and primed with her mental list of plasters due for changing, extensions that needed adjusting, pains for investigation and several urgent requests from patients to go home, she advanced on Jimmy’s bed, where she stationed herself opposite Mr van Beek, handed him the patient’s board wordlessly, and waited while he read it.

‘The plaster’s due off, I see, Sister.’ He glanced at Tommy Bates. ‘If Mr Bates would be good enough to do this, I will come back presently and have a look.’ He smiled at the jubilant look on Jimmy’s face. ‘That doesn’t mean that you’re going to get up and walk home—but we will have it X-rayed just once more, and if the result is what I expect it to be, then we’ll get you on your legs again. I’ll discuss it with Sister presently.’

He turned away, leaving Jimmy grinning at Tommy Bates, who played rugger himself and was already wielding the plaster cutters with a masterly hand. Mr van Beek had reached the next bed when he asked over his shoulder:

‘Where do you play, Jimmy?’

‘Half-back, sir.’

‘Ah yes—done during a tackle…’

‘Rugger player yourself, sir?’ ventured Jimmy.

Mr van Beek gave a half smile. ‘Er—yes, but some years ago, I’m afraid.’ He turned away and became instantly engrossed in a sub-capital fracture of femur which Mr Raynard had dealt with a few weeks previously, by means of a metal prosthesis. Old Mr Dale was a difficult patient, now he saw a new face to which he might grumble. Which he did at some length, while Mr van Beek listened with an impassive face and Tabitha and George Steele stood impassively by, listening to Mr Dale blackening their characters with no sign of discomfort, for they shared the view that an irascible old gentleman of well over seventy who had grumbled all his life was now too old to change his ways, and as neither of them had done any of the things of which they were accused, they didn’t allow him to worry them. Nor, it seemed, did Mr van Beek, for when the old gentleman had at last finished complaining, he said soothingly:

‘Yes—we all appreciate how tiresome it is for you to stay in bed, Mr Dale, and how irksome it is for you not to be able to sit in a chair. I feel sure that it has been explained to you why this is. However, as it distresses you so much, I fancy we may be able to help.’ He looked at Tabitha, his grey eyes twinkling. ‘Gentle traction here, I think, Sister, don’t you?’ He removed his gaze to Mr Steele. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with that, if I may, Steele. A couple of weeks should suffice—that will bring us to a month after the operation, will it not? Time enough for the prosthesis to have become firm.’

He turned back to the patient and explained, in a reasonable voice which brooked no contradiction, why the treatment was to be changed, and added: ‘And I should prefer it, Mr Dale, if you refrain from complaining about my colleagues without reason. Mr Raynard operated most successfully upon your hip, and, if you will allow it, your treatment is equally successful.’ He smiled, the gentle smile Tabitha liked to see. ‘You should join the team, not fight against it, you know.’

They were at the next bed when they heard Mr Dale chuckle, and Tabitha, who had been envisaging the horrors of getting traction on the recalcitrant old man, smiled and caught Mr van Beek’s eye. Mr van Beek winked.

Mr Prosser welcomed them with all the pleasure of a host inviting old friends in for a drink, and a great deal of time was lost while he and Mr van Beek discussed the nutritional value of fish and chips and the psychological effect of eating them from newspaper. ‘Adds a bit of interest,’ declared Mr Prosser. ‘Tell you what, you bring Sister ’ere down to my place when I get ’ome—I’ll give yer the finest bit o’ cod you’ve ever ’ad.’

Mr van Beek said mildly: ‘Well, that won’t be for a little while yet, you know, but I’ll accept your invitation, as I’m sure Sister will.’

They both looked at Tabitha, who said hurriedly: ‘Oh, yes—that would be delightful,’ because that seemed to be the answer they expected of her, although privately she was unable to visualize Mr van Beek doing any such thing, and certainly not in her company, but by the time Mr Prosser got back home the man standing opposite her would be lecturing in some other land, or at best, back in his own country. She wondered whereabouts he lived in Holland, a country about which she knew almost nothing. She was struggling to remember a little of its geography when Mr van Beek’s voice, patiently requesting her to hand him an X-ray form, penetrated her thoughts. She said: ‘Oh, sorry, sir,’ and went rather a pretty pink, causing Mr Prosser to remark: ‘You look bobbish, Sister—come up on the pools, ducks?’

She laughed then, as did the two men with her as they moved down the ward.

Mr Bow, when they got to him, was looking considerably better. His plastered leg seemed to take up most of the bed and his face was pale, but his eyes were clear and as blue as ever. Tabitha had already seen him, of course, but she had left Mr van Beek to explain what had been done, which he did now, with a masterly absence of the more gruesome details and a good deal of humour. ‘I’ll be back to have a chat, Knotty,’ he concluded, ‘Saturday at some time.’ He glanced at Tabitha as he spoke and she murmured: ‘Of course, sir,’ while regretting bitterly that she would be at Chidlake and would miss him.

Mr Raynard was better too; his knee dealt with and encased in plaster, he had allowed himself to relax sufficiently to sample the pile of thrillers his wife had thoughtfully provided. He put his book down as Tabitha pulled aside the cubicle curtain and said: ‘Tabby, where have you been? I’ve not seen you the whole morning.’

‘I don’t expect you have, sir,’ she replied with composure. ‘You were fast asleep when I came to see you at eight o’clock, and when I came back from Matron’s office you had had your breakfast and had gone to sleep again.’ She added kindly: ‘Plenty of sleep is good for you.’

He growled something at her and then said: ‘Well, come here— I’ve something for you,’ and when she obeyed, he produced an envelope from under the bedclothes and offered it to her. ‘Your birthday present,’ he said gruffly, ‘a day late, but I got Muriel to do something about it. Open it.’

She did so and gave a chortle of mingled pleasure and laughter. It was a year’s subscription to Vogue—it would be delightful to leaf through its extravagant pages, although her stepmother and Lilith would laugh at the notion of her taking any of its advice. But they didn’t have to know and there was no reason why she shouldn’t wear pretty clothes even if she were plain. She said warmly: ‘You’re a dear, sir—it’s a gorgeous present. Thank you very much.’

‘Glad you like it—did you have lots of presents?’

Tabitha said: ‘Oh, yes, heaps,’ and looked up to see Mr van Beek’s discerning eyes upon her, just as though he knew that the only present she had had was a scarf from Meg. She flushed guiltily and made for the door saying: ‘I’ve just remembered—something I had to tell Staff…’ and made her escape to the office, where she allowed her cheeks to cool before going back again, her usual calm self.

Mr van Beek had begun a highly technical discussion with his friend into which he drew her at once, almost as though he hadn’t noticed that she had been gone; she joined in, almost convinced that she had been oversensitive and that he hadn’t given her that peculiarly penetrating look after all. By the time they were ready to go back to see Jimmy’s now unplastered leg, she was persuaded that she had been rather silly.

The male members of the party, having viewed the leg, fell to a lively discussion on the game of Rugby football and she stood patiently listening until the smell of the patient’s dinners reminded her that the round had taken longer than usual. She sent Mr Steele a speaking glance which Mr van Beek intercepted. ‘Ah, dinners, Sister—am I right?’ He led the way to the ward door, where, probably unaware that the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were getting cold, he paused to thank her agreeably for her assistance and wish her a good day. She watched the three men walk away without haste up the corridor, Mr van Beek looming head and shoulders above his companions.

She saw him only very briefly the next day and in the evening she went to Chidlake.

It was a beautiful early evening, and because she was in no hurry, she took a cross-country route which led her along narrow, high-hedged lanes which wound in and out of villages well away from the main roads and still preserving an old-world charm quite hidden from the motorists on the highway. She stopped briefly at Ottery St Mary for petrol, and took a small back road which climbed steeply towards the coast, and after a while crossed the main coastal road into a country lane roofed with overhanging trees. The lane wound its way casually for a mile or so down to the village and although she couldn’t see the sea yet, it was close by. Presently the trees parted, leaving the lane to go on by itself between fields and an occasional house or row of cottages. Tabitha stopped then, for now she could see Chidlake and, beyond its roof, the sea, with the Dorset coast spreading itself grandly away into the evening’s dimness. The view was magnificent; she sat back and enjoyed it, longing to be going home to her mother and father, instead of to two people who had no love for her; no liking even. She was only too well aware that the only reason she had been invited now was because her stepmother felt that it was the right thing to do.

Tabitha started up the car and went on down the hill towards her home. She wasn’t looking forward to the next two days, but at least she would see some old friends at the dance, and that would be pleasant. She turned off the lane and up the short drive to the house, a pleasant Georgian edifice, not large, but roomy enough to shelter a fair-sized family in its rambling interior. She stopped in front of the rose-covered porch and got out, taking her case with her, and went indoors.

The hall extended from front to back of the house and she could see the garden through its open door, still colourful in the evening light, as she went into the sitting room. It was large and low-ceilinged with French windows leading to the lawn beyond. Its furniture was the same as Tabitha remembered from her earliest childhood; beautiful, graceful pieces which had been in the family for many years, and although her stepmother hadn’t liked them, she had had to admit that they suited the house, so they had been allowed, mercifully, to stay. Her stepmother was seated by a window, reading, and although she put down her book when Tabitha went in, she didn’t get up but said sharply: ‘You’re late. We had dinner, but I daresay there’s something in the kitchen if you want it.’ She eyed Tabitha with cool amusement. ‘That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing, but what a pity it’s wasted on you. I must say, Tabitha, you don’t grow any better looking. What a good thing you have the sort of job where looks don’t matter.’

Tabitha said dryly: ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ and prepared to leave the room again; she had heard it all before, and would doubtless hear it all again at some time or other. She asked: ‘The usual room, I suppose?’ and when Mrs Crawley nodded, went upstairs. At the head of the staircase she crossed the landing, and passing the room which used to be hers but which her stepmother had argued was unnecessary to keep as hers now that she lived away from home, went on up a smaller flight of stairs to the floor above, where she went into a small room at the back of the house which she used on her infrequent visits. It was pleasant enough, simply furnished and with a wide view of Lyme Bay which almost compensated Tabitha for the loss of her own room. She unpacked her own things quickly, hung the new dress carefully in the wardrobe, and went back downstairs to the kitchen where the cook and her husband, the gardener and odd-job man, were eating their supper.

They were a nice enough couple whom her stepmother had engaged after her father’s death, when the old cook and even older gardener had been dismissed by her as being too elderly for their jobs. They had gone willingly enough, for Tabitha’s father had remembered them generously enough in his will, and now they lived in the village where they had spent their lives and Tabitha made a point of visiting them each time she went to Chidlake and remembering their birthdays and Christmas, for they had loved her parents and home almost as much as she did herself. Now she accepted a plate of cold ham and salad and carried it into the dining room, where she ate her solitary meal at the rosewood table which could seat twelve so easily. It had been fully extended; no doubt there would be people to dinner before the dance.

She took her plate back to the kitchen, wished her stepmother good night and went to her room, where she spent a long time doing her nails, which were pink and prettily shaped and one of her small vanities. This done to her satisfaction, she sat down before the mirror, loosened her hair from its tight bun and piled it high. It took a long time and she lost patience several times before it was exactly as she wanted it, but when it was at last finished, she was pleased enough with the result. She would do it that way for the dance, she decided, as she took it down again and brushed it slowly, thinking about Mr van Beek. She was still thinking about him when she got into bed; he was nice, she wanted to know more of him, though there wasn’t much chance of that. She supposed he would stay until Mr Raynard could get back to work once more, and if Mr Raynard chose to clump around in a plaster, that wouldn’t be long. Then, presumably, he would be off on his lecturing tour and she would never see him again. She sighed, wishing that she was as pretty as Lilith, for if she had been, he would probably have taken her out just for the pleasure of being seen with her. As it was she would have to be content with their brief businesslike trip to Mr Bow’s room. She remembered that he had said that she was a restful girl and smiled, and smiling, went to sleep.

There was a lot to do the next day. Lilith, who didn’t appear until halfway through the morning, was taken up with the hairdresser, countless telephone calls and endless discussions as to her appearance, which meant that Tabitha had to run several errands in the village, help with the flowers and then assist her stepmother to her room because her head ached. It was lunchtime by then, a hurried meal over which Tabitha and Lilith wasted no time; they had little to say to each other, and beyond remarking that Tabitha looked tired already and pointing out several grey hairs she was sure Tabitha hadn’t noticed for herself, Lilith had nothing of importance to say. Tabitha knew about the grey hairs, and ignoring the remark about her tired looks, she got up from the table saying she had several things to do for herself, and made her escape.

It was a pity she couldn’t like Lilith; she had tried hard at first, for Lilith was exactly the kind of young sister she would have liked to have; small and dainty and blonde and so pretty that everyone looked at her twice at least. It had taken Tabitha an unhappy year to discover that Lilith was shallow by nature, spiteful by instinct, and only spoke the truth when it suited her. Also she hated Tabitha. Tabitha thought about that as she took out the present she had brought with her for Lilith’s birthday. It was an old silver locket and chain and she had chosen it with care because although she had no affection for Lilith, it would still be her birthday and nothing should spoil it.

She spent the afternoon with Jenny and Tom in their little cottage, drinking strong tea and talking about old times, and then walked along the top of the cliffs and over the fields to the house. It looked beautiful in the sunshine and would be even more lovely later on in the evening, for the roses were well out and the balcony at the back of the house had been decorated with masses of summer flowers. She went indoors to the drawing room, cleared for dancing and just as lavishly decorated. She went through the double doors at the end of the room and up the staircase and met Lilith on the landing. ‘There you are,’ said her stepsister. ‘How untidy you look! I hope you’ll do better than that this evening. I’m coming to see your dress.’

Tabitha paused at the foot of the little stairs. ‘I don’t think I want you to,’ she said quietly. ‘I promise you it’s quite suitable and I shan’t disgrace you.’

She went on up the stairs and Lilith followed her. ‘Come on, Tabitha,’ she wheedled, ‘it’s my birthday—I’m supposed to be happy all day, and I shan’t be if I can’t see your dress.’

Tabitha sighed. ‘Very well, though I assure you it’s nothing to get excited about.’

She took it out of the cupboard and laid it on the bed, and Lilith said instantly in a furious voice: ‘You can’t wear it—you can’t!’

‘Why not?’ Tabitha was too surprised to feel angry.

‘The colour will clash with mine. It’s blue—pale blue—that dress of yours will make it look faded.’ She stamped her foot. ‘You shan’t wear it! You’ve done it on purpose so that I shan’t look prettier than everyone else.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Tabitha bracingly. ‘Why should I do that? And how was I to know what colour you intended to wear—besides, we’re not going to stand together all the evening.’

Lilith didn’t reply but ran out of the room; Tabitha could hear her voice, shrill with temper, raced downstairs, and braced herself for her stepmother’s inevitable intervention on her daughter’s behalf. Mrs Crawley swept in, the little smile Tabitha had learned to dread on her face. Her voice was pleasant and brisk.

‘What’s all this fuss about your dress, Tabitha?’ Her eyes studied it, lying on the bed. ‘My dear, even if it didn’t clash with Lilith’s, you couldn’t really wear it. I mean, it just isn’t you, is it? Were you persuaded by some super sales-woman into buying it? There’s that pretty grey and white striped dress you had last year—so suitable. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to spoil Lilith’s birthday party—it is her party; you know—besides, there’s someone she met at the Johnsons’ the other evening and she wants to look her best for him, and there’s no one you particularly want to impress, is there?’

Tabitha had gone a little white, for she had a fine temper, but she had learned to control it during the last few difficult years. She said now very evenly: ‘No, no one. It makes no difference at all what I wear.’ And then because she was so angry, she added: ‘Would you rather I didn’t come?’

Her stepmother looked genuinely shocked. ‘Not come? Of course you must come—what would everyone say?’

Tabitha smiled; her stepmother saw it and frowned angrily as she turned to leave. ‘Dinner’s at eight,’ she said shortly. ‘You know everyone who’s coming. We’ll give Lilith her presents while we’re having drinks. Everyone else will come about nine or thereabouts.’

After she had gone Tabitha sat down on the bed and cried. She cried for her new dress and for the birthday parties she hadn’t had for the last five years, and for the bedroom which had always been hers and wasn’t any longer, and because she was lonely. And underneath all these, only half realizing it, she cried for Mr van Beek.

Presently she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and set about repairing the damage—something that she did so well that by half past seven she was dressed in the grey and white stripes, her face nicely made up and her hair piled in intricate little puffs on top of her head, showing off a surprisingly pretty neck. She had pinned a pink velvet bow in front of her coiffure, and after a final appraising look in her mirror she went downstairs, her head held defiantly high, to meet her stepmother and Lilith once more before greeting their dinner guests. Half of their number were friends of Lilith’s own age, but the remainder were older people, who had known her parents and herself from a baby, and as she was seated between the vicar, who had christened her, and the doctor who had attended her birth, she enjoyed her dinner. The doctor was long past retiring age, although he still worked on with a young assistant to do the more arduous work. Neither of them had seen her for some time and had a great many questions to ask her which she answered as lightheartedly as possible. Nevertheless, towards the end of the meal the doctor leaned a little nearer and said quietly:

‘Tabby, we’ve worried about you a little. When your father died did he leave provision for you? This may seem like an impertinence, but we have your well-being at heart, my dear.’

Tabitha gave him a warm smile. ‘Yes, I know, and thank you. Father didn’t leave me anything; you see, he hadn’t made a will since Mother died. He kept meaning to…I had some trinkets of Mother’s and some of the silver. There was an understanding that…’ She paused, not liking to say what was in her mind. ‘I believe my stepmother misunderstood,’ she finished lamely.

‘Quite so,’ said her companion, ‘but I suppose the house will revert to you eventually?’

Tabitha shook her head. ‘No—I’ve been told that it’s to be Lilith’s.’

The vicar, listening from the other side, looked astounded. ‘But she has no connection—Chidlake has been in your family for years—your father must have meant you to have it so that it would pass to your children.’

‘Well, I don’t see much chance of marrying,’ said Tabitha prosaically, ‘but I think that’s what he intended, because he used to say so when I was a little girl. Still, I have a good job, you know,’ she smiled reassuringly at their worried old faces. ‘Next time you’re out our way, you must come and see the ward.’

The dinner party broke up shortly afterwards and everyone went to the drawing room to await the arrival of the other guests, who presently came in a never-ending stream, laughing and talking and handing a radiant Lilith her presents, and when the small band struck up, taking to the floor in the pleasantly full room. Tabitha danced in turn with the doctor, the vicar and several friends of her parents and once or twice with young men who were Lilith’s friends and strangers to the village. Their conversation was limited to asking her who she was and then expressing surprise at her answer. They danced badly, something which she did very well, so that when she saw a young man in a plum-coloured velvet suit and a pink frilled shirt making his way towards her she slipped away using the bulky frames of the doctor and his wife as a shield, and went outside on the balcony. It was a glorious night, with the last brightness of the sun still lingering over the distant headlands of Torbay. She wandered away from the drawing room, so that the music and noise was dimmed a little and leaned over the balustrade to sniff at the roses below. It was then that she became aware of Lilith’s voice, very gay and excited. She must have left the drawing room too, although she would of course have a partner. Tabitha straightened up; if she walked on quickly, Lilith wouldn’t see her. But it was too late, for several paces away, Lilith cried:

‘Tabitha? All alone? Have you run out of partners already?’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘We should have got some older men for you.’

Tabitha turned round. She began quietly: ‘That would have been a good…’ Her voice faltered into silence, for the man with Lilith was Mr van Beek.

Her first reaction was one of deep regret that she wasn’t wearing the new dress, the second that his elegance, in contrast to his appearance when they had first met, was striking. She thanked heaven silently for the kindly moonlight and said in a voice from which she had carefully sponged all surprise: ‘Good evening, Mr van Beek.’

Lilith looked surprised, frowned and then said incredulously: ‘You know each other?’

Mr van Beek smiled charmingly at her. ‘Indeed we do.’ He turned the same smile on Tabitha, who didn’t smile back.

‘How very delightful to meet you here, Miss Crawley, and how providential, for one or two matters of importance have cropped up—perhaps if Lilith would forgive me, we might settle them now.’

‘Settle what?’ Lilith wanted to know.

‘Oh, some very dull matters concerning patients,’ he answered easily. ‘Nothing you would want to bother your pretty head about. Go back and dance with as many of your young men as you can in ten minutes, then you will have all the more time for me.’

Lilith smiled, looking up at him through her long curling lashes.

‘All right, Marius, you shall have your ten minutes, though it all sounds very dull.’ She didn’t bother to look at Tabitha but danced off, the picture of prettiness, to disappear into the drawing room.

Tabitha had stood quietly while they had been talking, and now that Lilith had gone she still made no move. It was Mr van Beek who spoke first. He said, to astonish her: ‘Tabitha in moonlight—how charming you look.’

‘There’s no need,’ began Tabitha firmly, ‘to flatter me just because you’ve discovered that I’m Lilith’s stepsister.’

His brows lifted. ‘That seems a most peculiar reason for flattery, which, by the way, isn’t flattery. I did know that you were stepsisters. You do look charming—you’ve done your hair differently too.’

He smiled at her so kindly that she burst out: ‘Moonlight’s kind. Wait until you see me indoors, I’m as plain as ever I was.’

He came and leant on the balustrade beside her. ‘I’m sure your mother and father never told you that you were plain.’

‘Of course they didn’t.’

‘Then why do you think you are?’

She looked at him in astonishment. ‘I grew up knowing it,’ she frowned. ‘At least, I guessed I would be.’ She fumbled for words. ‘I—I knew, that is, before I was told.’

‘And who told you?’

Tabitha had a sudden vivid memory of standing before the mirror in the hall, doing something to her hair. It had been soon after her father had brought his second wife home, and already Tabitha had become aware that she wasn’t liked. Her stepmother had stopped and looked at her reflection over her shoulder and said, gently mocking: ‘Why do you fuss so, Tabitha, surely you know by now that there is nothing much you can do to improve matters? You’re a plain girl, my dear.’ Tabitha could still hear that light mocking voice.

‘Well, go on,’ prompted Mr van Beek gently, but she shook her head and then changed her mind to say uncertainly: ‘Well, she only told me something I guessed was true, only I didn’t want to admit it…!’

‘You should never guess,’ he stated firmly. ‘Now you’ve got an idée fixe about it, haven’t you? All you need is treatment.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Treatment? What sort of treatment?’

‘At some convenient time I will answer that, Tabitha. Now shall we go indoors and finish this dance?’

Tabitha agreed, thinking that he was getting bored. The conversation had hardly been a sparkling one, and that had been her fault. The music had started some time earlier; he would only have to partner her once or twice round the drawing room. She was right, or almost so, for they had circled the floor exactly one and a half times when the band stopped playing and she muttered some excuse about speaking to an old friend, and went to sit by old Lady Tripp, who was indeed an old friend of her mother’s when she had been alive. Tabitha plunged into an awkward conversation; her companion was deaf and everything had to be said at least twice, so that the thread was quickly lost.

In a minute or two she looked cautiously round the room and saw Mr van Beek dancing with Lilith. Even from the other end of the room, she could see that Lilith was sparkling, her lovely face alight with pleasure, which apparently Mr van Beek shared, for he was smiling down at her, and whatever it was he was saying made her laugh happily. Tabitha smiled herself, albeit with difficulty, while she listened with sympathy to Lady Tripp’s detailed description of her arthritis, at the same time wondering how and where Lilith had met Mr van Beek. Her stepmother had said that Lilith had met someone at the Johnsons’, and as far as she could see, he was the someone—and just the sort of man Lilith would marry. He was a good deal too old for her, of course, but did that really matter if he had a good position and money to give her all the luxuries she demanded of life? Lilith was undoubtedly the sort of girl a man would want for a wife, especially an older, successful man, and presumably Mr van Beek was successful. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed unlikely that he could afford to run a Bentley like his unless he had a very good practice or money of his own—Mr Raynard had said that he was at the height of his career. She was roused sharply from her thoughts by Lady Tripp, who wanted to know, in the kindest possible way, if she had a young man yet. She was attempting to answer this question when she was asked to dance, and although it was one of the very young men trailing attendance on Lilith, Tabitha welcomed him with rather more enthusiasm than she felt and followed him on to the dance floor to twist and whirl and weave with a gracefulness which Mr van Beek, who was talking to the vicar, watched with a lazy enjoyment which sadly enough she failed to observe.

Despite the lateness of the hour when she had gone to bed, Tabitha was up early the next morning. She would go back to St Martin’s after tea—before, if she could manage to get away, but now the sun was shining and a walk would be delightful before breakfast. She dressed and went down to the kitchen and made herself some tea and stood drinking it at the open kitchen door, thinking about the dance. It had been, according to her stepmother, a great success, even the fact that Tabitha had already met Mr van Beek hadn’t spoiled Lilith’s triumph, for she had been extravagant in her praise of him and full of plans in which he largely figured.

‘He’s got a Bentley,’ she told Tabitha with glee. ‘I shall ask him to take me to Bournemouth or Torquay for the day.’

Tabitha had said nothing, although she wondered if Mr van Beek was quite the man to enjoy either of these resorts during the summer months; she had an idea that his tastes might run to something quieter. In answer to Lilith’s close questioning about her acquaintance with him, she had been briskly off-hand. She had made no mention of Mr Bow, and Lilith, whose knowledge of hospital life was fragmental, imagined that as a surgeon he had merely to walk into the theatre, operate and go home again, and Tabitha saw no reason to enlighten her. She couldn’t stop Lilith getting Mr van Beek if she wanted him, but she certainly wasn’t going to help her; she was vague to the point of stupidity when Lilith demanded to know when he was likely to be free and which days of the week he could be expected to operate, and even more vague as to the length of time he would be likely to remain at the hospital.

She finished her tea, dismissed her thoughts because they weren’t very happy ones, and prepared to enjoy her walk. She crossed the fields towards the sea as she had done the previous afternoon, and walked, in the coolness of the early morning, down to Lyme Regis and out along the Cobb. There were few people about, mostly exercising their dogs, and at the end of the Cobb, a handful of enthusiastic people getting ready to sail. Tabitha went and sat on the edge of the stone wall and watched them, carrying on a casual conversation the while. She was getting to her feet once more when Mr van Beek said from behind her: ‘Good morning—I imagined you would still be in bed.’

Tabitha turned round slowly, not attempting to hide her pleasure at seeing him and at the same time resolutely recognizing his remark as a figure of speech and no more. She said cheerfully: ‘Hullo—not on a morning like this.’ Her eye fell on an elderly dog with a woolly coat standing beside him. ‘That’s Fred, isn’t it—unless you own his double.’

He laughed. ‘The Johnsons’ dog, not mine. You know him, I see.’

‘For years. He must be twelve now—he used to come swimming with me.’

He asked abruptly: ‘You were happy, weren’t you? Here in your lovely home, with all your friends. Has your family been here long?’

‘About a hundred and fifty years—the house was built during the Regency period.’

‘And what will happen to it now—is it to be yours, or will your stepmother…?’

Tabitha turned away so that he wouldn’t be able to see her face. She spoke steadily. ‘My father didn’t leave—that is, he didn’t make a will. My stepmother owns it, naturally. I expect when Lilith marries she will live there.’

He sounded surprised. ‘Lilith live there? I simply can’t imagine it. She likes London, I imagine—a flat in a modern block of skyscrapers and Harrods just around the corner.’ He spoke lightly, almost jokingly, and she answered carefully.

‘Lilith is pretty and very popular—she has dozens of friends. Of course she likes a carefree life, but she’ll settle down in a year or so.’

He didn’t answer. She stooped to pat Fred. ‘Well, I must be getting back.’ She edged away, but not fast enough, for he reached out and caught her bare arm.

‘I’ll run you back—I’ve got the car at the end of the Cobb. There’s no hurry.’

She said ‘No,’ quickly, and then because he gave her such a strange look, went on: ‘It’s kind of you, but I like walking. I wouldn’t like to disturb my sister and stepmother, they’re still sleeping.’

Mr van Beek gave her a long considering look. ‘I see that you have another idée fixe,’ he observed mildly, although he didn’t tell her what it was this time. ‘In which case, since you don’t care for me to drive you back, I will, if I may, walk with you.’

Tabitha caught her breath. ‘No—yes, well it’s two miles across the fields and along the cliff path.’ She looked at him anxiously.

His face bore no expression other than that of polite interest. ‘Yes? In that case I daresay Fred and I shall give up about halfway. We are neither of us as young as we were.’ If he heard Tabitha’s sigh of relief he gave no sign, and now that the danger of arriving at Chidlake with him and being seen by a furious Lilith was averted, Tabitha became quite cheerful.

They started to walk back along the Cobb with Fred lumbering beside them. They were halfway along its length when Mr van Beek said:

‘You should wear your hair like that more often.’

Tabitha slowed her pace to look at him. ‘Like this?’ she asked in an amazed voice. ‘Just hanging—I’ve tied it back anyhow.’

‘And very nice too, although I do appreciate that it might not do under a sister’s cap.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ her voice was matter-of-fact, ‘it took hours and I’d never have time in the morning.’

He stooped and picked up a pebble and threw it for Fred, so that they had to stand and wait while he shuffled after it. ‘Yes, I daresay, but surely after a little practice you would be quicker?’

She accepted Fred’s proffered pebble and gave him an affectionate pat before she replied: ‘I suppose I could try. But what’s the point?’

‘Why, to prove to yourself that you aren’t plain, of course.’

Tabitha felt temper well up inside her. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ she cried, ‘and stop patronizing me just because you’re sorry for me. You’ve got Lilith…’

They were off the Cobb now, climbing the steep road to the footpath. She started to run, not looking back, and didn’t stop until she was almost at the end of the path, with Chidlake in sight across the fields.

She went back before tea, pleading an interview with Matron which couldn’t be avoided. That Matron would wish to interview any of her staff on a Sunday was highly improbable, but it was the only excuse Tabitha had been able to think of and in any case neither of her listeners were sufficiently interested to want to know more. She said her goodbyes thankfully and drove the Fiat out of the gate and up the hill, away from the village and the sea. At the top she stopped and looked back. It was a very clear day, Chidlake stood out sharply against its panoramic background. She could see every window and every chimney, even the roses at the front door. She saw something else too—the Bentley gliding up the hill below the house, then turning in at its gate to stop before the door. She didn’t wait to see Mr van Beek get out, but started the little car’s engine with a savagery quite alien to her nature and drove, a great deal faster than was her habit, back to her own little flat.