Читать книгу Bracken Turning Brown - Pamela Wynne - Страница 9

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By the time the little local train drew up at Troutbeck Millicent had realised what it was to travel with a man who knew exactly what he wanted and got it. “Everybody knows you,” she said respectfully as the little group of officials left standing on Penrith platform dwindled and grew smaller.

“Well, you see, they have a ridiculous way of putting my photograph in the paper,” said Sir Pelham apologetically. He stood tall and slim by the window and dragged it up. “It’s cold,” he said. “I’m glad I kept out my thicker coat.”

“I have only one and I’m glad I’ve got it on,” said Millicent. She suddenly felt flat. “I wish I hadn’t to say good-bye to you so soon,” she said. “Do you suppose I shall ever see you again?”

“I hope so.”

“Are you going to be in the Lakes for long?”

“I have to be away from my work for a year,” said Sir Pelham briefly. “I’d almost forgotten that, you have amused me so. But I’ve been ill—a sort of ridiculous breakdown and the doctors won’t let me go back to it for a year. Hell,” said Sir Pelham suddenly.

“I can imagine you feel like saying hell,” said Millicent. “I felt it, too, the first day I got up from having influenza. But now I don’t feel it. I think it’s been meeting you that’s taken it away. If I don’t see you again I shall feel inclined to say hell every time I wake up,” ended Millicent firmly.

“Then that must be avoided at any cost,” said Sir Pelham. Again his eyes were bright with amusement. Regarding Millicent he drew his notecase from an inner pocket. “I’ll give you my address,” he said, and scribbled on a card.

“How marvellous to have your card,” reflected Millicent, holding it tightly and staring at it.

“And now I’m afraid we must say good-bye, at any rate for the moment,” said Sir Pelham. The train drew into the tiny station and came to a standstill. Away to the left the moorland road wound whitely into the distance. A blue distance of hills and mountain and soft grey mist. Sir Pelham was collecting his things. Letting down the window he wrenched open the door.

“Take care of yourself,” he said. “And thank you for a very pleasant journey.”

“Yes, these are my things, and there are a couple of suitcases in the van.” As he stepped down on to the platform Sir Pelham spoke pleasantly to the porter who had hurried up.

“You take care of yourself,” said Millicent mournfully. She stood up and leaned dejectedly out of the window. A ridiculous sensation of tears assailed her. He had been so marvellous—so different to anything she had ever known before. And now he was gone—for ever, of course, because she would never see him again; how could she?

“Send me a picture postcard,” said Sir Pelham cheerfully. He reached up and took her small gloved hand in his. “Au revoir,” he said, “not good-bye; we shall meet again, I’m sure.”

“I wish I was sure,” said Millicent miserably, holding his hand tightly in hers until the moving train forced her to relax her hold. It had been so heavenly ... so simply marvellous. Millicent hung far out of the window until, on the receding platform, the tall grey figure only remained a tiny speck. And then she sat down heavily on the springy cushions and shed a few ridiculous tears.