Читать книгу A Suitable Match - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

THE path lab would be open over Christmas; accidents and sudden illness took no account of holidays. Eustacia was to work on Christmas Day morning and again on Boxing Day afternoon, sharing the days with the two porters. She went home on Christmas Eve much cheered by the good wishes and glass of sherry she had been offered before everyone left that evening. Once there, she opened the bottle of claret she had been hoarding and she and her grandfather toasted each other before they sat down to supper. She had bought a chicken for their Christmas dinner, and before she went to bed she prepared everything for the meal so that when she got back home the next day she would need only to put the food in the oven. In the morning she got up earlier than usual, laid the table and put the presents they had for each other beside the small Christmas tree, took her grandfather his breakfast and then hurried off to work. There was no one there save the night porter, who wished her a hasty ‘Merry Christmas’ before hurrying off duty. He hadn’t had to call anyone up during the night, he told her, and hoped that she would have a quiet morning.

Which indeed she did. Mr Brimshaw, arriving shortly afterwards, wished her a mumbled ‘Happy Christmas’ and went along to his office to deal with the paperwork, and Eustacia set about putting the place to rights, turning out cupboards and then making coffee. The telephone went incessantly but there were no emergencies; at one o’clock the second porter took over and Mr Brimshaw handed over to one of the assistants. Eustacia went to get her outdoor things, wished the porter a civil goodbye and made for the door just as one of the hospital porters came in with a parcel.

‘Miss Crump?’ he enquired. ‘I was to deliver this before you left.’

‘Me?’ Eustacia beamed at him. ‘You’re sure it’s for me?’

‘Name’s Crump, isn’t it?’

He went away again and she tucked the gaily packed box under her arm and went home, speculating all the way as to who it was from.

But first when she got home there was her present from her grandfather to open—warm red slippers; just what she needed, she declared, during the cold months of winter. After he had admired his waistcoat and gloves she opened her package. It had been wrapped in red paper covered with robins and tied with red ribbons, and she gave a great sigh of pleasure when she saw its contents: an extravagantly large box of handmade chocolates, festooned with yet more ribbons and covered in brocade. There was a card with it, written in a childish hand, ‘With Love from Oliver and Teddy.’

‘Well, really,’ said Eustacia, totally surprised. ‘But I only met them once, remember, Grandfather, at Kew…’

‘Children like to give presents to the people they like.’

‘I must write and thank them—only I don’t know where they live.’

‘They’re with their uncle, aren’t they? And with luck someone at the hospital will surely know his address.’

‘Yes, of course. What a lovely surprise. Have one while I start the dinner.’ She paused on her way to the kitchen. ‘It must have cost an awful lot, and they’re only children.’

‘I dare say they’ve been saving up—you know what children are.’ Her grandfather chose a chocolate with care and popped it into his mouth. ‘They’re delicious.’

They had their dinner presently and afterwards Eustacia went to church, and went back home to watch television until bedtime. Without saying anything to her grandfather she had hired a set, to his great delight, for he spent a good part of the day on his own and she guessed that he was sometimes lonely. If, later on, she couldn’t afford it, she could always return it—although, seeing the old man’s pleasure in it, she vowed to keep it at all costs. It was an extravagance, she supposed, and the money should perhaps be saved against a rainy day or the ever-worrying chance that she might lose her job. On the other hand, it was their one extravagance and did much to lighten their uneventful lives.

She went back to work the next day after their lunch. There were two of the staff on duty, cross-matching blood for patients due for operations the following day, doing blood counts and checking test meals. Eustacia made tea for them both, had a cup herself and busied herself restocking the various forms on each bench. That done, she put out clean towels, filled the soap containers and cleaned the sinks which had been used. She was to stay until six o’clock when the night porter would take over, and once the others had gone it was very quiet. She was glad when he came to spend a few minutes in cheerful talk before she took herself off home.

Everyone was short-tempered in the morning—too much to eat and drink, too little sleep and a generally jaundiced outlook on life cast gloom over the entire department. Miss Bennett found fault with very nearly everything, until Eustacia felt like flinging a tray of dishes and bottles on to the floor and walking out for good. She held her tongue and looked meek, and to her great surprise at the day’s end Miss Bennett rather grudgingly admitted that on the whole her work was quite satisfactory, adding sternly that there was to be no more slackness now that the festive season was over. ‘And a good thing it is,’ she observed. It was obvious to Eustacia that the poor woman found no joy in her life. Such a pity, one never knew what was round the corner.

It was halfway through January when she got home one evening to find, to her great astonishment, Sir Colin Crichton sitting all at ease opposite her grandfather’s armchair by the open fire. He got up when she went in and wished her a polite good evening, and she replied with a hint of tartness. She wasn’t looking at her best; it had been a busy day and she was tired, and, conscious that her hair was untidy and her face badly needed fresh make-up, the frown she turned upon him was really quite fierce and he smiled faintly.

‘I came to talk to you,’ he said to surprise her, ‘but if you are too tired…?’

She took up the challenge. ‘I am not in the least tired,’ she assured him, and then said suddenly, ‘Oh—is it about my job?’

He had sat down again and she glanced at her grandfather, who, beyond smiling at her when she kissed him, had remained silent.

‘Er—yes, to a certain extent.’

She took an indignant breath. She had worked hard at a job she really didn’t like and now she supposed she was to get the sack, although why someone as exalted as Sir Colin had to do it was beyond her.

He said in his quiet, deliberate voice, ‘No, it is not what you think it is, Miss Crump, but it would please me very much if you would give up your job in the path lab and come to work for me.’

‘Come to work for you?’ she echoed his words in a voice squeaky with surprise. And then added, ‘Why?’

‘My nephews,’ he explained. ‘They have both had flu, tonsillitis and nasty chests. It is obvious that London doesn’t agree with them, at least until they are fit again. I feel responsible for them while their mother and father are away, but I am rarely at home during the day and there is no question of their going back to school for several weeks. I have a home at Turville, just north of Henley. A very small village and quiet— I don’t go there as often as I would wish. I should like the boys to go there and I would be glad if you would go with them. They have taken to you in a big way, you know.’ He smiled his charming smile. ‘There is a housekeeper there, her husband does the garden and the odd jobs but they are both elderly and the boys need young company—a kind of elder sister? I think that you would fill that role exactly…’

Eustacia had her mouth open to speak and he went on calmly, ‘No, don’t interrupt—let me finish… I am not sure how long it might be before my brother returns—but at least two months, and at the end of that time you would have sufficient experience to get a post in a similar capacity. There is plenty of room for everyone; the Samwayses have their own quarters on the ground floor at the back of the house and adjoining it is a bedroom which Mr Crump could use. You yourself, Miss Crump, would have a room next to the boys on the first floor. Now as to salary…’ He mentioned a sum which made Eustacia gape at him.

‘That’s twice as much as I’m getting,’ she told him.

‘I can assure you that you will earn every penny of it. Do you know anything about little boys?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

He smiled. ‘But I believe that you would do very well with them. Will you consider it?’

She looked at her grandfather, and although he didn’t say anything she saw the eagerness in his face. ‘This flat?’ she asked. ‘It’s—it’s our home.’

‘You could continue to rent it. Naturally I do not expect you to pay for your rooms and food at Turville.’ He sounded disapproving and she blushed.

‘It is a very generous offer…’ she began, and he laughed then.

‘My dear girl, this is no sinecure. The boot will be on the other foot if you agree to take charge of the boys. Would you like time to think it over?’

She caught sight of her grandfather’s face again. ‘No, thank you, sir, I shall be glad to come.’ She was rewarded by the look on the old man’s face. ‘I shall have to give my notice. I don’t know how long…?’

‘Give in your notice and I’ll have a word. And don’t call me sir, it makes me feel old.’ He got to his feet. ‘I am most grateful for your help. You will hear from me as soon as the details are settled.’

She saw him to the door. ‘You’re quite sure…? she began as she opened it.

‘Quite sure. The boys will be delighted.’

She stood in the doorway and watched him drive away and then went back to her grandfather.

He quickly dispelled any vague doubts floating around in her head. ‘It couldn’t be better,’ he declared. ‘It is a splendid start; when you leave the boys you will have a good reference and plenty of experience. You will be qualified for an even better post.’

‘But Grandfather, what about you?’ She sat down at the table.

‘We still have this flat—there must be a job such as this one where one can live out.’ He allowed himself to dream a little. ‘You might even get a post in the country where there is a cottage or something similar where we might live.’

She had her doubts, but it would be unkind to throw cold water over his pleasure. She let him ramble on happily and hoped that she had done the right thing. After all, her job, although not to her liking, was, as far as she knew, safe enough, and she had earned enough to make their life a good deal easier than it had been. On the other hand, she wouldn’t need to buy food, they would live rent-free and she would be able to save a good deal of the money she earned.

‘I hope I’m doing the right thing,’ she muttered as she went to the kitchen to get their supper.

She went to see Miss Bennett the next morning and was surprised to find that that lady knew all about it. ‘You will have to work out your week’s notice,’ she told Eustacia, and her usually sharp voice was quite pleasant. ‘There will be no difficulty in replacing you—I have a list of applicants ready to jump into your shoes.’ She added even more surprisingly, ‘I hope you will be happy in your new job. You will have to see the professor before you go. You are on Saturday duty this week, are you not?’ And when Eustacia nodded, ‘So you will leave at six o’clock on that day.’

She nodded dismissal and Eustacia escaped to the quiet of the little cubby-hole where she washed the bottles and dishes and, while she cleaned and polished, she allowed her thoughts to wander. Sir Colin hadn’t said exactly when they were to go, but she hoped it wouldn’t be until Monday so that she would have time to pack their things and leave the flat pristine.

There was a letter for her the following morning. If her grandfather and she could be ready by Sunday afternoon directly after lunch, they would be fetched by car and driven to Turville; he trusted that this arrangement would be agreeable to her. The letter was typewritten, but he had signed it with a scrawl which she supposed was his signature.

She could see no reason why they should not go when it was suggested, so she wrote a polite little note saying that they would be ready when the car came, and went off to tell her grandfather.

She packed their clothes on Saturday evening, got up early on Sunday morning and did some last-minute ironing, shut the cases and set about seeing that the flat was left clean. There wasn’t time to cook lunch, so she opened a can of soup and made some scrambled eggs and was just nicely ready when the doorbell was rung.

She was surprised to find Sir Colin on the doorstep. He wished her good-day in his placid voice, exchanged a few words with her grandfather, helped him into the front seat and put their luggage in the boot, ushered her into the back and, without more ado, set off.

There was little traffic on the road. Just before they reached Henley, Sir Colin turned off on to a narrow road running between high hedges which led downhill into Turville. Eustacia saw with delight the black and white timbers of the Bull and Butcher Inn as they reached the village, drove round the small village green with its fringe of old cottages, past the church and down a very narrow lane with meadows on one side and a high flint wall on the other. The lane turned abruptly and they drove through an open gateway into a short, circular drive leading to a long, low house with many latticed windows and a stout wooden door, the whole enmeshed in dormant Virginia creeper, plumbago and wistaria. It would be a heavenly sight in the summer months, she thought; it was a delightful picture in mid-winter with its sparkling white paint and clay-tiled roofing. Sir Colin stopped the car before the door and it was immediately thrown open to allow the two boys to rush out, shouting with delight.

Sir Colin got out, opened Eustacia’s door and helped her out, and left her to receive the exuberant greetings of the little boys while he went to help her grandfather. A grey-haired man came out of the door to join him. ‘Ah, Samways, here are Mr and Miss Crump.’ And, as he smiled and bowed slightly, Sir Colin went on, ‘Pipe down, you two, and give a hand with the luggage.’

He had a quiet, almost placid voice and Eustacia saw that they did as they were told without demur. They all went indoors to the hall, which was wide and long with pale walls and a thick carpet underfoot. The graceful curved staircase faced them, flanked by a green baize door on the one side and on the other a glass door with a view of the garden beyond. It was pleasantly warm and fragrant with the scent of the hyacinths in the bowl on a delicate little wall-table.

Sir Colin said in his quiet voice, ‘Samways, if you would show Mr Crump to his room…’ He paused as the baize door opened and a small, stout woman bustled through. ‘Ah, Mrs Samways, will you take Miss Crump to her room? And if we all meet for tea in ten minutes or so?’

Eustacia watched her grandfather go off happily with Samways and then, with Mrs Samways leading the way and the two boys following behind, she went up the staircase. There was a wide landing at its top with passages leading from it, and Mrs Samways took the left-hand one, to open a door at its end. ‘The boys are just next door,’ she explained. ‘They have their own bathroom on the other side.’ She led the way across the large, low-ceilinged room and opened another door. ‘This is your bathroom, Miss Crump.’

It was all quite beautiful, its furniture of yew, the walls and carpets the colour of cream, the curtains and bedspread of chintz in pale, vague colours. Eustacia was sure that she would sleep soundly in the pretty bed, and to wake up each morning with such a glorious view from her windows…

‘It’s lovely,’ she murmured, and peeped into the bathroom, which was as charming in its way as the bedroom with its faintly pink tiles and piles of thick towels. She gave a sigh of pure pleasure and turned to the boys. ‘I’m glad you’re next door. Do you wake early?’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, ‘and now you’re here, perhaps we can go for a walk before breakfast?’

‘Just listen to the boy,’ said Mrs Samways comfortably, ‘mad to go out so early in the day. Not that I’ve anything against that, but what with getting the breakfast and one thing and another I’ve not had the time to see to them…’

‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ said Eustacia, ‘but if Sir Colin doesn’t mind and we won’t be bothering you, we might go for a quick walk as long as it doesn’t upset the way you like to run the house, Mrs Samways.’

‘My dear life, it’ll be a treat to have someone here to be with the boys. Now I’ll just go and fetch in the tea and you can come down as soon as you’re ready.’ She ushered the boys out ahead of her and left Eustacia, who wasted five minutes going round her room, slowly this time, savouring all its small luxuries: a shelf of books, magazines on the bedside table with a tin of biscuits and a carafe of water, roomy cupboards built into the wall, large enough to take her small wardrobe several times over, a velvet-covered armchair by the window with a bowl of spring flowers on a table by it. She sat down before the triple mirror on the dressing-table and did her face and hair and then, suddenly aware that she might be keeping everyone waiting, hurried down the stairs. The boys’ voices led her to a door to one side of the hall and she pushed it open and went in. They were all in there, sitting round a roaring fire with Moses stretched out with his head on his master’s feet, and a portly ginger cat sitting beside him.

Sir Colin and the boys got to their feet when they saw her, and she was urged to take a chair beside her grandfather.

‘You are comfortable in your room?’ asked Sir Colin.

‘My goodness, yes. It’s one of the loveliest rooms I’ve ever seen.’ She beamed at him. ‘And the view from the window…’

‘Delightful, isn’t it? Will you pour the tea, and may I call you Eustacia? The boys would like to call you that too, if you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind.’

She got up and went to the rent table where the tea things had been laid out, and her grandfather said, ‘This is really quite delightful, but I feel that I am imposing; I have no right to be here.’

‘There you are mistaken,’ observed Sir Colin. ‘I have been wondering if you might care to have the boys for an hour each morning. Not lessons, but if you would hear them read and keep them up to date with the world in general, and I am sure that there have been events in your life well worth recounting.’

Mr Crump looked pleased. ‘As a younger man I had an eventful life,’ he admitted. ‘When I was in India—’

‘Elephants—rajas,’ chorused the boys, and Sir Colin said blandly,

‘You see? They are avid for adventure. Will you give it a try?’

‘Oh, with the greatest of pleasure.’ Mr Crump accepted his tea and all at once looked ten years younger. ‘It will be a joy to have an interest…’

Eustacia threw Sir Colin a grateful glance; he had said and done exactly the right thing, and by some good chance he had hit on exactly the right subject. Her grandfather had been in India and Burma during the 1940-45 war, and as a young officer and later as a colonel he had had enough adventures to last him a lifetime. He had stayed on in India for some years after the war had ended, for he had married while he’d been out there, and when he and her grandmother had returned to England her father had been a small schoolboy.

‘I am in your debt—the boys won’t be fit for school for a week or two. I hope they won’t be too much of a handful for you both. It is a great relief to me that they can stay here in the country.’ He looked at Eustacia. ‘You won’t find it too quiet here?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, there’s such a lot to do in the country.’

They finished their tea in an atmosphere of friendly agreement, and when the tea things had been cleared away by Samways they gathered round the table and played Scrabble until Sir Colin blandly suggested that the boys should have their supper and go to bed. A signal for Eustacia to go with them, to a small, cosy room at the back of the rambling house and sit with them while they ate it. It seemed obvious to her that she was expected to take up her duties then and there, and so she accompanied them upstairs to bed after they had wished their uncle and her grandfather goodnight. Getting ready for bed was a long-drawn-out business with a great deal of toing and froing between the bathroom and their bedroom and a good deal of laughing and scampering about. But finally they were in their beds and Eustacia tucked them in, kissed them goodnight and turned off all but a small night-light by the fireplace.

‘We shall like having you here,’ said Oliver as she went to the door. ‘We would like you to stay forever, Eustacia.’

‘I shall like being here with you,’ she assured him. To stay forever would be nice too, she reflected as she went to her room and tidied her hair and powdered her flushed face. She was a little surprised at the thought, a pointless one, she reminded herself, for as soon as the boys’ parents returned she would have to find another job. It would be a mistake to get too attached to the children or the house. Perhaps it would be a good idea if she didn’t look too far ahead but just enjoyed the weeks to come.

She went back to the drawing-room and found Sir Colin alone, and she hesitated at the door. ‘Oh, I’ll go and help my grandfather unpack…’

‘Presently, perhaps? I shall have to leave early tomorrow morning, so we might have a little talk now while we have the opportunity.’

She sat down obediently and he got up and went over to a side-table. ‘Will you have a glass of sherry?’ He didn’t wait for her answer, but poured some and brought it over to her before sitting down again, a glass in his hand.

‘You are, I believe, a sensible young woman—keep your eye on the boys, and if you aren’t happy about them, if their coughs don’t clear up, let me know. Make sure that they sleep and don’t rush around getting too hot. I’m being fussy, but they have had badly infected chests and I feel responsible for them. You will find the Samwayses towers of strength, but they’re elderly and I don’t expect them to be aware of the children’s health. They are relieved that you will be here and you can call upon them for anything you may need. I shall do my best to come down at weekends and you can always phone me.’

He smiled at her, and she had the feeling that she would put up with a good deal just to please him. She squashed it immediately, for she strongly suspected that he was a man who got his own way once he had made up his mind to it.

She said in her forthright way, ‘Yes, Sir Colin, I’ll do my best for the boys too. Is there anything special you would want me to know about them?’

He shook his head. ‘No—they’re normal small boys, full of good spirits, not over-clean, bursting with energy and dreadfully untidy.’

‘I’ve had no experience—’ began Eustacia uncertainly.

‘Then here is your chance. They both think you’re smashing, so they tell me, which I imagine gives you the edge.’

He smiled at her very kindly and she smiled back, hoping secretly that she would live up to his good opinion of her.

Her grandfather came in then and presently they crossed the hall to the dining-room with its mahogany table and chairs and tawny walls hung with gilt-framed paintings. Eustacia sat quietly, listening to the two men talking while she ate the delicious food served to her. Mrs Samways might not be much to look at but she was a super cook.

They went back to the drawing-room for their coffee and presently she wished them goodnight and took herself off to bed, first going in search of her grandfather’s room, a comfortable apartment right by the Samwayses’ own quarters. He hadn’t unpacked so she did that quickly, made sure that he had everything that he might need and went upstairs to her own room.

The boys were asleep; she had a bath and got into bed and went to sleep herself.

She was wakened by a plump, cheerful girl, who put a tray of tea down by the bed, told her that it was going to be a fine day and that her name was Polly, and went away again. Eustacia drank her tea with all the pleasure of someone to whom it was an unexpected luxury, put on her dressing-gown and went off to see if the boys were awake.

They were, sitting on top of their beds, oblivious to the cold, playing some mysterious game with what she took to be plastic creatures from outer space. Invited to join them, she did so and was rewarded by their loud-voiced opinions that for a girl she was quite bright, a compliment she accepted with modesty while at the same time suggesting that it might be an idea if they all had their breakfast.

She made sure that their clothes were to hand and went away to get herself dressed, and presently returned to cast an eye over hands and hair and retie shoelaces without fuss. They looked well enough, she decided, although they were both coughing. ‘I’d quite like to go for a walk after breakfast,’ she observed casually. ‘I mean a proper walk, not on the road.’

Breakfast was a cheerful meal, with Samways hovering with porridge, bacon and scrambled eggs, and her grandfather, after a good night’s sleep, willing to recount some of his youthful adventures. Eustacia left them presently, went upstairs and made their beds and tidied the rooms, did the same for her grandfather and then went to remind the boys that they were going to take her for a walk.

‘There’s a windmill,’ she reminded them. ‘It doesn’t look too far away—I’d love to see it.’

She had hit on something with which to interest them mightily. Had she seen the film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? they wanted to know, because that was the very windmill in it. They walked there briskly and returned to the house for hot cocoa and an hour’s reading before lunch. The afternoon was spent with her grandfather and she was able to spend an hour on her own until Mrs Samways suggested that she might like to look round the house. It was quite large and rambled a good deal. ‘Rather a lot to look after,’ observed Eustacia, peering at family portraits in the library.

‘Ah, but there’s two good girls who come up from the village each day, and Sir Colin comes mostly at weekends and then not always… He brings a few guests from time to time and we have Christmas here, of course. He’s not all that keen on London. But there he’s a clever gentleman and that’s where he works. I dare say if he were to marry—and dear knows I hope and pray he does, for a nicer man never stepped—he’d live here most of the time. London isn’t a place for children.’

Eustacia murmured gently; she realised that Mrs Samways was doing her an honour by talking about her employer and she was glad that the housekeeper seemed to like her. It hadn’t entered her head that making the beds and tidying up after the boys had endeared her to Mrs Samways’ heart. ‘That’s a nice young lady,’ she had informed her husband. ‘What’s more she gets on with the boys and they listen to her, more than they ever did with me.’

They had their tea in a pleasant little room at the back of the house and gathered round the table afterwards to play cards until the boys’ supper and bedtime. Eustacia tucked them in finally, listening rather worriedly to their coughs, although neither of them were feverish. They had certainly eaten with youthful gusto and, by the time she had got out their clean clothes for the morning and gone to her own room to tidy herself, they were sound asleep, their nice, naughty-little-boy faces as peaceful as those of small angels.

After dinner she sat with her grandfather in the drawing-room, listening to his contented talk. He hadn’t been so happy for a long time, and it reminded her of his dull existence at their flat in London; this was like a new lease of life to him. Her thoughts flew ahead to the future when the boys’ parents would return and she would know that she was no longer needed. Well, she reflected, she would have to find another job similar somewhere in the country and never go back to London. She had said goodnight to her grandfather and had seen him to his room and was on the point of going upstairs when the phone rang as she was turning out the drawing-room lights.

She picked it up hesitantly, not sure if this was something the Samwayses would consider to be their prerogative, and indeed Mr Samways appeared just as she was lifting the receiver.

‘I’m sorry—I should have left it for you.’

He smiled at her in a fatherly fashion. ‘That’s all right, miss, I dare say it will be Sir Colin.’ He took the receiver from her and said in a different, impersonal voice, ‘Sir Colin Crichton’s residence,’ and then, ‘Good evening, sir. Yes, Miss Crump is here.’

He smiled again as he handed her the phone.

Sir Colin’s voice came very clearly over the line. ‘Eustacia? You don’t mind if I call you that? The day has gone well?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir. They have been very good and they went to bed and to sleep at once.’ She gave him a brief, businesslike resumé of their day. ‘They both cough a great deal…’

‘Don’t worry about that, that should clear up now they’re away from London. I’ll look them over when I come down. You and your grandfather have settled in?’

‘Yes, thank you. Grandfather has just gone to his room. I think that he is a very happy man, sir…’

‘And you, Eustacia?’

‘I’m happy too, thank you, sir.’

‘Good, and be kind enough to stop calling me sir with every breath.’

‘Oh, very well, Sir Colin. I’ll try and remember.’

He sounded as though he was laughing as he wished her goodnight and rang off.

The week went by, delightful days filled with walks, visits to the village shop, an hour or so of what Eustacia hoped was useful study with the boys and afternoons spent helping Mrs Samways with the flowers, the linen and such small tasks that the housekeeper didn’t allow the maids to do, while the boys spent a blissful hour with her grandfather.

It was, thought Eustacia, too good to be true. And she was right.

Sir Colin had phoned on the Saturday morning to say that since he had an evening engagement he wouldn’t be down until Sunday morning.

‘I expect he’s going to take Gloria out to dinner,’ said Oliver. ‘She’s keen on him…’

Eustacia suppressed a wish to know more about Gloria and said quellingly, ‘I don’t think we should discuss your uncle’s friends, my dear. You can stay up an hour later this evening because you always do, don’t you? But no later. I dare say he’ll be here quite soon after breakfast.’

The boys complained, but only mildly; she swept them upstairs to bed with only token arguments against the harshness of her edict and, with the promise that she would call them in good time in the morning just in case their uncle decided to come for breakfast, she left them to go to sleep. Her grandfather went to bed soon after them and, since there was no one to talk to and the Samwayses had gone out for the evening and wouldn’t be back until late, she locked up carefully, mindful of Mr Samways’ instructions about leaving the bolts undone on the garden door so that he could use his key to get in, and took herself off to bed.

She didn’t hurry over her bath, and finally when she was ready for bed she opened one of the books on her bedside table, got into bed, and settled down for an hour of reading. It was an exciting book, and she was still reading it an hour later when she heard the telephone ringing.

It was almost midnight and the Samwayses weren’t back yet; she bundled on her dressing-gown and went silently downstairs to the extension in the hall. She was in two minds as to whether to answer it—it was too late for a social call and it could be one of those heavy-breathing types… She lifted the receiver slowly and said austerely, ‘Yes?’

‘Got you out of bed?’ enquired Sir Colin. ‘Eustacia, I’m now on my way to Turville. I’ll be with you in half an hour. Are the Samwayses back?’

‘No.’ There had been something about his voice. ‘Is there something the matter? Is something wrong?’

‘Very wrong. I’ll tell you when I get home. If you have locked up I’ll come in through the garden door.’

He hung up before she could say anything more.

She left the light on in the hall and went along to the kitchen, where she put the coffee on the Aga and laid up a tray with a cup and saucer, sugar and cream, and while she did that she wondered what could have happened. An accident with his car? A medical report about one or both of the boys?

She shuffled around the kitchen, peering in cupboards looking for biscuits—he would probably be hungry. She had just found them when she heard the car, and a moment later his quiet footfall coming along the passage towards the kitchen.

He was wearing a dinner-jacket and he threw the coat he was carrying on to a chair as he came in. He nodded to her without speaking and went to warm his hands at the Aga, and when she asked, ‘Coffee, Sir Colin?’ he answered harshly,

‘Later,’ and turned to face her.

It was something terrible, she guessed, looking at his face, calm and rigid with held-back feelings. She said quietly, ‘Will you sit down and tell me? You’ll feel better if you can talk about it.’

He smiled a little although he didn’t sit down. ‘I had a telephone call just as I was about to leave my London house this evening. My brother and his wife have been killed in a car accident.’