The Most Marvelous Summer Page 11

  Mr Scott-Thurlow had remained silent; now he took Lucy's hand and started towards the car. His `goodbye, Matilda' sounded very final.

  Rhoda lingered. `All this fuss over a child and what are you hoping to get out of it, buttering her up like that? It's nauseating.'

  She had lowered her voice, but it had a piercing quality which made it possible for Lucy to hear her. James heard her too.

  Matilda put her clenched hands behind her back for fear she might slap Rhoda and turned her back. She stayed like that until she heard the car's engine. She turned round then and waved and called goodbye to Lucy sitting beside her godfather.

  The big house was very quiet now that everyone had gone. Miss Tremble was still there but she would be going on holiday herself on the following day and several of the domestic staff had already gone, leaving the housekeeper, one maid and the gardeners to mind the place. Matilda took herself upstairs and started the beds, glad to have something to do, trying to dismiss from her thoughts Mr Scott-Thurlow's indifference. Yet when he had got out of his car and seen her she could have sworn that he had been pleased to see her. `Oh, well, no good moping,' muttered Matilda, bundling up sheets as though her life depended on it.

  Contrary to her expectations the week went quickly; there was a lot to do but there was the odd hour when she was free to roam the gardens or even, greatly daring, sit down at the piano in the assembly hall and thump out a few tunes. The housekeeper was kind, making sure that she ate the good food she got ready and not complaining when Matilda took her cup of tea and slice of cake out into the garden, to sit under a tree.

  She hadn't been paid and she was a little worried about that, but on the day before she was due to go the postman left a letter for her. Miss Tremble had written her a kind note, promising a reference if she wanted one and enclosing her cheque. Matilda sat and admired it for quite a time, thinking of all the things for which it could be used.

  Hilary came for her on the last morning and she bade goodbye to the remaining staff, quite sorry to go, but once in the car, exchanging news, her regret was soon forgotten.

  'Roseanne knows you're coming home today; could you bear to see her for a few minutes on our way home?"

  'Yes, all right. How is she?"

  'Waiting impatiently until she's on her feet again. She's having physio so it shouldn't be too long now.' She added, `She wants you to be one of the bridesmaids.'

  `Me? Oh, no-anyway, I doubt if Lady Fox will allow her to invite me to the wedding.'

  At the hospital Matilda got out of the car. `Are you coming in?'

  Hilary shook her head. `I'll give you ten minutes.'

  Roseanne was in good spirits and greeted her with delight. `Only another few weeks,' she began at once, `then I can get up on crutches. But I don't want to go home until I'm quite well, Mother will only fuss...' She studied Matilda's face. `You must have been working awfully hard-you're pale or sad or something.'

  Matilda let that pass. `How are the plans for the wedding going?'

  Roseanne launched into a detailed and rather muddled account of the plans; the ten minutes was up but there seemed no way in which to stop her. Matilda was searching in vain for a chance to stem the flow when the door opened and Sister came in and, with her, Mr Scott-Thurlow.

  Matilda said, `Oh, lord,' and then blushed scarlet.

  Mr Scott-Thurlow, never a man to dissemble, looked surprised in a manner which appeared genuine, which, considering that he had gone to a good deal of trouble to ensure that he should visit Roseanne when Matilda was with her, did him credit. He had taken a lot of trouble to engineer their meeting, suggesting to Roseanne that since Matilda would be going home that morning it would be nice if she called in. `I'm sure whoever fetches her won't mind suggesting it,' he had said offhandedly and had left the rest to kindly fate, telling himself that he only wished to see Matilda in order to let her know about Lucy and Theobald.

  His `good morning' was suave; he said politely, `There is no need to leave the room; I merely wish to tell Roseanne that her latest X-ray is most satisfactory. I think we might start the crutches at the end of next week.'

  He waited while Roseanne enjoyed an outburst of delight. `You'll be here?' she asked anxiously.

  `Yes, and I shall bring Dr Bramley with me.' He gave her a kindly smile and looked at Matilda, who was quite pale now. `You have finished at the school?' he asked blandly.

  `Yes.'

  His small, mocking smile annoyed her, and she wished that she could think of something clever to say to him but she couldn't. Instead she told Roseanne that she really had to be going. 'Hilary's waiting in the car and they are expecting me at home.' She conjured up a smile. 'I'm so glad you're doing so well.'

  `You'll come again?"

  'Oh, yes, of course. Goodbye.'

  She said goodbye to Sister too and, since there was no way of avoiding Mr Scott-Thurlow's elegant bulk leaning in front of the door, she made her farewells to him too. She looked him in the eye as she did so but most annoyingly he had dropped the lids over his eyes and, since his face still wore its bland, pleasant mask, she was unable to discover what he was thinking. Why am I worrying? she mused as she made her way out to the car. He isn't thinking about me, anyway.

  She was wrong of course.

  `Mr Scott-Thurlow's here,' Hilary told her un necessarily as she got into the car.

  `Yes, I saw him.' Matilda busied herself with her safety-belt and her sister gave her downbent head a thoughtful look. There had been a forlorn note in Matilda's voice. She decided not to pursue the subject and began to talk about her own forthcoming wedding.

  At home, once more, Matilda was engulfed in her family; the boys were on holiday, so was Esme, and the house was full. There was no question of a holiday of course although later on in the autumn, when the younger ones were back at school, her father and mother would be going to a small seaside town in Cornwall, exchanging with the vicar of the parish there for two weeks, and shortly Hilary would be going to stay with her future in-laws again.

  `Have you any plans?' asked her mother. `There's your Aunt Penelope, she would love to have you, and you've enough money to enjoy yourself there.'

  `I'll think about it,' Matilda told her, anxious to put her parent's mind at rest and not disclose that most of her cheque had been given to her. `It's nice just being at home.'

  She was sitting outside the back door stringing beans with Nelson on her lap. It wasn't very convenient but he had insisted on climbing up, pleased to see her back home again.

  `Well, dear, you do just what you want-only it's rather dull for you.'

  `Never dull, Mother dear. But I did enjoy that job at the school and I think I'll see if I can get something similar for the autumn term. There are dozens of schools around this part of the world.'

  Her mother glanced at her. She was such a lovely girl, and nice-natured into the bargain; true, she had a temper when roused and she was impulsive, but her heart was warm; there must be a man somewhere in the world who would want her for his wife. A pity the world was such a large place and Abner Magna was so remote. Mrs ffinch cast a mental eye over the village; there wasn't a man around who would do for Matilda. Only Mr Scott-Thurlow, and that was a closed book never to be opened.

  Matilda found plenty to do now that she was home again; doing the flowers in the church, taking over a class in Sunday school, driving her father around the parish, which was a scattered one, helping in the house and taking her mother

  into Sherborne to shop, but there was still time to wander off into the country around, sometimes with Esme but more often than not alone.

  Two weeks went by, and Matilda, despite her hidden unhappiness, became nicely tanned, which made her eyes greener than ever and her hair even more fiery. She had a sprinkling of freckles too which did nothing to detract from her prettiness, and only when she was alone did she allow her charming mouth to droop and then not for long. She had plenty of good sense; crying for the moon wasn't going to help but a job w
ould. She went into Sherborne to an agency and put her name on their books, and scanned the local paper each week as well as her father's Telegraph. Something would turn up, Esme assured her, coming upon her poring over the vacancies column.

  It did, the very next day, in the elegant shape of Mr Scott-Thurlow, getting out of his car with the air of a man who knew what he wanted and intended to get it. Matilda was on her knees, grubbing up weeds from the rose-bed under the drawing-room windows, and since she hadn't intended to go out that day she had tied her hair back with a ribbon and put on a wide cotton skirt and a sleeveless top, neither of them either new or fashionable. All the same she looked delightful.

  Esme, perched on the steps outside the french window, saw him first. She went dancing to meet him. `Look who's here,' she called, `just in time for coffee.'

  Matilda turned to look over her shoulder. Mr Scott-Thurlow was strolling towards her. He had abandoned the drive and was crossing the lawn with Esme skipping beside him. She sat back on her heels and waited until he had paused beside her, looming above her head so that she got to her feet quickly. She had become rather pink in the face but her `good morning' was cool and faintly questioning.

  He smiled down at her. `Good morning, Matilda. I have come to ask a favour of you. Can you spare the time to listen to me?'

  She dusted the earth off her hands. ' Of course. Won't you have some coffee? Mother is indoors...'

  She led the way into the house, going through the french window into the drawing-room. `Do sit down,' she said in what Esme called her hostess voice. 'I'll fetch some coffee and tell Mother.'

  'Er-might I not have my coffee in the kitchen, if your mother is busy? What I have to say is for everyone to hear.'

  Her already warm cheeks glowed. He had made it sound as though she was expecting to have a tete-a-tete with him. The very last thing she wanted, she reminded herself.

  Esme had gone ahead, and Matilda opened the drawing-room door without a word and ushered him through, but he paused in the doorway. `It would be so much easier if we were on a friendlier footing,' he said blandly, and at her indignant little snort, `Yes, I know I have not given you reason to be friendly, have I? But if you could believe that what I am going to ask of you is not for myself?'

  She looked at him then. He appeared severe and remote, but then he smiled slowly, his eyebrows raised.

  `All right,' said Matilda gruffly and opened the kitchen door.

  Mrs ffinch had the coffee-mugs on the table: a cake, warm from the oven, sat fragrantly on a plate at its centre and in some mysterious fashion the two boys, her father and Mrs Coffin. unnecessarily busy at the sink, were all them with her mother and Esme. Mr Scott-Thurlow was welcomed with what Matilda considered to be unnecessary warmth, bidden to sit down anti offered coffee and a slice of the cake while everyone else arranged themselves around thee table. He was allowed to drink some coffee and take a bite of the cake before Mrs ffinch said, 'Esme says you want Matilda to do you a favour. Perhaps you would rather talk to her alone after we have had our coffee.'

  `There is no need for that, Mrs ffinch. She may wish to discuss what I have to ask of her with you and it willl save time if you are told at the same time.'

  `Is there such a hurry?' asked Matilda sharply. `I am going to see Roseanne, and I should like my answer when I come back, in about an hour.' `What do you want?"

  'Not what I want, Matilda,' he corrected her quietly. `It is what Lucy wants.' He waited while Mrs ffinch refilled his mug. `She has the mumps and very severely too. My housekeeper, who was also my nanny, is getting on a bit and although she is wonderfully kind and helpful she is tired. Lucy wants you, Matilda-no one else will do save her mother, and that isn't possible as you know. Would you consider coming for a few weeks? There is very little nursing and you will probably be bored but the child is so unhappy...'

  `Well, of course I'll come if she wants me.' Matilda spoke impulsively as she so often did and then had second thoughts. `But wouldn't your fiancee feel-well, perhaps she would rather be with Lucy?'

  His `no' was decisive and made it difficult to pursue the matter.

  `Poor little girl,' said Mrs ffinch, `of course she misses her mother, though I'm sure you do your best, Mr Scott-Thurlow.'

  She glanced at her daughter, who frowned heavily and looked at the faces round the table. They all expected her to accept-somehow he had got them all on his side. She said crossly, `Oh, very well, I'll come, just until Lucy is feeling better.'

  `I wouldn't dream of keeping you a moment longer,' said Mr Scott-Thurlow. `I know that she will be delighted. Now I must go. Could you be ready in just over an hour?"

  'I haven't much choice, have I?' She was being rude and she didn't care.

  When he had gone her father said mildly, `You were rather ungracious, Tilly; he is after all doing his best for the child.'

  Her mother added, `Such a kind man, too.'

  `Mother!' said Matilda fiercely, and rushed out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I DON'T even know where he lives,' grumbled Matilda, flinging things into her case.

  `Well, we can ask when he comes back.' Esme was sitting on the bed eating biscuits out of a tin and advising Matilda on what to pack. `Don't put that old thing in,' she warned, `it's only fit for the jumble. Take that flowery skirt and lots of tops. Will you have to do your own washing? I wonder what his house happens to be like. I know he's got a housekeeper, but lots of quite poor people have one-she's his nanny anyway, I dare say she lives there and looks after him in return for a home. She'll have her OAP anyway...'

  `How you do run on,' said Matilda, who had been wondering the same thing. `Shall I take the green dress?'

  'Yes-you won't need to dress up if you have your meals with him, but if he has people to dinner or drinks you'll have to look decent. Can't you get another dress? I suppose you gave most of your wages to Mother-she'll let you have them back-'

  `Certainly not. I don't expect to lead a social life, love, but I'll pack the green thing if you think I should.' She burrowed into her wardrobe. `I'd better wear the patterned blouse and skirt.' She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. `Oh, lord, he'll be here in ten minutes. Shut this case for me, there's a dear, and I'll get changed.'

  She was thrusting pins into a severe French pleat when Esme asked, `Do you suppose that Rhoda will be there? In his house...?"

  'Probably,' said Matilda thickly through the pins. `She is going to marry him after all.' It hurt to say that.

  `I mean, does she live there?'

  Matilda withdrew the pins from her mouth the better to speak clearly. `I think it is very unlikely. Doctors and the like have to think of their reputations.'

  `You'll be living there with him, though,' went on Esme, never one to mince matters.

  `I shall be employed by Mr Scott-Thurlow, and that's quite different."

  'Why? I can't see...' Luckily she paused when she heard the car coming up the drive. `He's here-I'll take your case. Come along, do, you can't keep him waiting.' As they went downstairs she hissed, `Is he going to pay you?"

  'I suppose so.'

  `How much?'

  Matilda quelled her with a frown and crossed the hall to where Mr Scott-Thurlow stood talking to her father and mother.

  `You will want to know where you're going,' he observed in the mildest of tones. 'Lucy is in London with me at present, and as soon as she is well enough I thought you might go, the pair of you, to a cottage I have near Dartmouth Stoke Fleming-the sea air will do her good.'

  It would be more than two hundred miles from London, reflected Matilda. `It sounds a splendid idea,' she said quietly. `Where abouts in London, Mr Scott-Thurlow?'

  `Near Piccadilly and Oxford Street. Just off Orchard Street.'

  `Isn't that near Wigmore Street?"

  'Yes. Fifteen Blenheim Street. Your father has the address and the phone number.'

  The rector nodded. `We shall no doubt hear from Matilda once she has settled in. I hope that s
he will be of assistance to you and that the little girl will get well quickly.'

  Everyone had gathered in the hall by now and Matilda began a round of goodbyes while Mr Scott-Thurlow shook her parents' hands and then waited patiently while she embraced her mother and father.

  She twisted round in her seat to wave goodbye as they drove away and said with a snap, `You're always in such a hurry.' She shot him a cross look and he said gravely, 'I'm sorry about that, Matilda. I promise you that I won't badger you once you are installed and I'll send you down to Stoke Fleeting just as soon as Lucy is fit to travel.'

  Why not? she thought unhappily, he-and certainly Rhoda-wouldn't want them at his London home. He was doubtless a good godfather and anxious to do his best for the child, but he had his work and more than that he had Rhoda.