A Winter Love Story Page 14

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  THEY DIDN’T LEAVE until after lunch on the following day. In the morning they had gone for another walk, taking one of the paths which led into the heart of the forest. They had talked about Christmas, and plans to come again, perhaps for Easter, or perhaps he could persuade his parents to visit them.

  ‘The cottage should be quite ready by then, and I’m sure they would enjoy it. We will go down there as soon as possible and see what needs doing. I’m sure you have some ideas, and the place will need painting and decorating.’

  ‘And furnishing.’ Claudia’s eyes sparkled. ‘Curtains and things.’

  It had been a most satisfactory morning, she reflected, and began a leisurely round of goodbyes. Christmas had been two wonderful days; she liked Thomas’s family, and she loved the countryside around his home and the comfortable old house. She hoped that they would come again, but she doubted if Thomas could spare the time to drive up frequently. She got into the car with real regret, made sure that Harvey was comfortable on his blanket on the back seat and turned to give a final wave.

  It was still light, although the day was fading. She looked around her at the country as Thomas drove back to join the motorway, and, since he didn’t speak other than to ask her if she was comfortable, she stayed silent.

  They were approaching the motorway when he said, ‘We’ll stop for tea just before Birmingham, but do tell me if you want to stop before then.’

  Her ‘Yes, Thomas’ was the epitome of wifely obedience.

  It was quite some time before he said, ‘You’re very quiet.’

  ‘Well, I thought that’s what you wanted. I’m sure you have a great deal to think about...’

  ‘For instance?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Your work and your patients, and perhaps you are wishing you were back with your family and that Christmas was just beginning and not over.’

  He didn’t comment on that. ‘You enjoyed your Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, I did. I loved every minute of it, and I like your parents and your sisters and brother.’

  ‘They like you, Claudia.’

  They stopped for tea at a service station, took Harvey for a brisk walk around the car park and resumed their journey, speeding along the motorway, talking of this and that. And Claudia had the feeling that even while he talked Thomas’s mind was on something else.

  ‘Are you worried about something?’ she asked. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I shan’t take umbrage.’

  He laughed then. ‘I’m not worried, Claudia.’ He began to talk about plans for Christmas Cottage, and she felt as though she had been snubbed. It had been nicely done, but whatever it was, she wasn’t to be told about it.

  London was empty of traffic; Boxing Day was a family visiting day and many people were indoors. Later they would return to their own homes, but just now it was quiet.

  Cork opened the door and they went in to a welcoming warmth and a faint but delicious smell from the kitchen. He welcomed them with grave pleasure, fetched the cases and then announced that dinner would be in half an hour if that suited them.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll take Harvey for a run.’ Which left Claudia to go to her room and tidy herself and unpack before going down to the drawing room. Thomas wasn’t there, but Harvey was sitting before the fire looking drowsy.

  ‘I gave Harvey his supper, madam,’ said Cork, coming silently into the room. ‘The master’s in his study. He will be joining you presently.’

  ‘Thank you, Cork. Have you had a happy Christmas?’

  ‘Very pleasant, madam. I trust that you enjoyed yourself?’

  ‘Very much. The country was beautiful.’

  Cork went away, and she fetched her tapestry and began to stitch. It was a bit of an anticlimax after the cheerful racket that had been such fun. Only yesterday, she thought, and it seems like weeks ago already.

  Mr Tait-Bullen, coming into the drawing room some minutes later, paused for a moment in the doorway; Claudia looked delightful, sitting there working away at her embroidery. It seemed to him that she had always been there; it was hard to think of the house without her in it. He wondered what she would say if he were to tell her that he had fallen in love with her, but he thrust the temptation aside. He thought she was happy and content, and he must have patience; in time she might come to love him, but until then they must stay good friends. It was lucky that he had more than enough work to keep him busy.

  He sat down opposite her and observed mildly, ‘I’ve a good deal of work on my hands for the next week or so, but we might go down to Child Okeford next Sunday and take a good look round. You might like to spend an hour or two with your mother.’

  ‘Yes, I would, and I’m longing to see the cottage again. You don’t have to go away, do you?’

  ‘In a couple of weeks I have a seminar in Liverpool—two days or so.’ He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘I’m afraid you will be on your own a good deal, Claudia.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ve all those coffee mornings and tea parties to go to—with people I met at the hospital ball—and plans for the cottage.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You must decide how you want it furnished...’

  ‘Well, you must decide, too, for you’ll be living there as well, whenever we get the chance.’

  They spent the rest of the evening together. ‘Like an old married couple,’ said Cork to himself. ‘They ought to be out dancing or whatever. It isn’t right.’

  Such an idea hadn’t entered Claudia’s head. She was perfectly content, sitting there, making heavy weather of the tapestry while Thomas immersed himself in a pile of medical journals. It was nice, she reflected, that they enjoyed each other’s company but made no demands on each other.

  Soon after ten o’clock she folded her work, declared that she was tired and took herself off to bed, after giving Harvey a hug and bestowing a friendly goodnight on Thomas as he got up to open the door for her. His manners were beautiful, she reflected as she went upstairs, and he was unfailingly kind. She heaved a sigh, not knowing quite why.

  She didn’t see a great deal of him for the next few days. He was away early in the mornings and didn’t get home until early evening; there was a good deal of flu, he told her, and his registrar was off sick.

  ‘Take care!’ said Claudia. ‘Are there many off sick at the hospital?’

  ‘Amongst the nursing staff, yes—quite a few of the medical staff, too. And, of course, the wards are all full...’

  There was nothing she could do to help, but she took care to see that a meal was ready when he got home, with welcoming warmth and no disturbances if he wanted to work. As for herself, her days were nicely filled. Walks with Harvey, such shopping as Cork allowed her to do, coffee with various of the ladies she had met at the ball and most afternoons spent reading though not always understanding some of the medical books in Thomas’s study. But it was necessary that she had some idea of his work, and now was no time to bother him with any questions. If ever he chose to talk to her about work, at least she would have some idea of what he was talking about.

  There was also the New Year to look forward to—only a day away—and all being well they were to go out to dinner tonight, and dance the New Year in. Claudia washed her hair, did her nails and massaged in a cream guaranteed to improve the complexion. That she had no need of it was quite beside the point.

  She took Harvey for a long walk in the afternoon and returned home, thankful to be out of the damp cold, looking forward to tea round the fire. She let herself in, dried Harvey and took off her outdoor things, then went to sit down in the small sitting room. It was already past the usual teatime, but she supposed that Cork had forgotten the time. After half an hour she went to the kitchen, vaguely uneasy. Cork ran the house like clockwork. Perhaps he had had to go
out for some reason...

  He was huddled in a chair by the Aga, with a white face and shivering.

  ‘Cork, you’re ill.’ She put a hand on his forehead and felt its heat. ‘You must go to bed at once.’ When he protested feebly, she added, ‘No, please do as I say.’ She saw that the effort to get out of the chair was too much for him, so she heaved him up and helped him to his room, sat him on the bed, took off his shoes and pulled the bedclothes over him. ‘Now, lie still, there’s a good man. I’m going to get you a drink.’

  There was bottled water in the fridge; she filled a jug, found a glass and took them to his room, gave him a drink and tucked the bedclothes round him.

  ‘Your tea, madam,’ croaked Cork. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Don’t give it a thought. Go to sleep if you can. I’m going to find a warm water bottle for you. As soon as the Professor gets home he’ll come and see you. I expect it’s the flu.’ She cast a worried glance at him. He really looked ill; thank heaven Thomas would be home early.

  She went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. Cork wouldn’t have any, although he drank some more of the water, so she went back to the kitchen and drank her own tea. She ate some of the sandwiches on the tray, fed Harvey and, since they wouldn’t be going out to spend the evening, peered into the fridge and the cupboards, collecting the makings of a meal.

  She was still there when Thomas came home. Harvey ran into the hall to greet him, and as the dog came into the kitchen, with Thomas behind him, she dropped the potato she was peeling and ran to him, quite forgetting to be calm and sensible.

  ‘Thomas, I’m so glad to see you. Cork’s ill. I’ve put him to bed but he’s so hot and shivery.’ She tugged at his sleeve. ‘Do come and see what’s wrong.’

  Mr Tait-Bullen’s features displayed nothing but calm assurance. He said in an unhurried manner, ‘This wretched flu, I expect. I’ll take a look.’ He paused on his way. ‘You didn’t take his temperature?’

  ‘Well, no. His teeth were chattering so much I was afraid he would break the thermometer.’

  He nodded and went out of the kitchen and into Cork’s room, and Claudia peeled the last of the potatoes. There was plenty of food in the fridge; she had chosen salmon steaks to go with the potatoes, frozen petit pois and there was a cabbage in the sink to clean and cook. Dull fare for Old Year’s Night, but with Cork ill, food didn’t seem very important.

  ‘It will have to be cheese and biscuits afterwards,’ she told Harvey, ‘and I just hope he likes it.’

  ‘He’ll like it,’ said Thomas, from somewhere behind her. ‘Cork has the flu, but he’s not too bad. I’ve given him paracetamol and I’ll go back presently and settle him down. We’ve plenty of orange juice and cold drinks, I presume? That’s all he’ll need for a while...’

  ‘Poor man. Now, just you sit down and I’ll make a pot of tea. Supper won’t be very exciting, but it’ll be food...’

  Mr Tait-Bullen sat, watching his wife trot to and fro, her glorious hair getting very untidy, her lovely face flushed. She might look a bit disorganised, he reflected, but she was efficient and quick. A pot of tea was placed before him, with the sandwiches, now rather dry, and a dish of the little cakes Cork was so clever at baking.

  ‘If you don’t mind waiting for dinner, I’ll go and see to Cork.’

  ‘My dear girl, he would rather die. He needs to be undressed and put to bed—washed and so on.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’m quite able to do that, you know.’

  ‘Of course you are. All the same, I think it is better if I see to him while you get our dinner. By all means see to his drinks and any food that may take his fancy.’

  He got to his feet. ‘I’ll check the post and be back very shortly.’

  He was as good as his word. ‘We’ll eat here, shall we?’ he asked, taking off his jacket. ‘I’ll see to the table presently.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but went to Cork’s room and shut the door.

  Claudia drank another cup of cooling tea, offered Harvey a biscuit, because he was being such a good boy, and turned her attention to the salmon. She was a good cook; if she had known that she was to cook the meal that evening she would have thought out a dinner worthy of the occasion, but it would have to be a simple meal. She thought with regret of the pretty dress she had laid out ready to wear this evening, the delicious supper they would have had, the excitement of toasting the New Year. What could they have for a pudding? she wondered, and began to squeeze oranges for poor Cork.

  Thomas came back presently, put on his jacket and then started to lay the table. It took some time, since he had to search for everything in drawers and cupboards, but the end result was as elegant as if Cork had done it himself. He took a bowl of hyacinths from the windowsill and put it at the centre of the table, arranged silver and glass just so and went to look in the fridge. Cork, that admirable man, had put a couple of bottles of champagne in it earlier that day. Thomas opened one, filled a glass and took it to Claudia.

  ‘I’m sorry—you must be disappointed that we can’t go dining and dancing with the rest of the world,’ he told her. ‘We’ll make up for it later on.’

  Claudia took a good drink of champagne. ‘I don’t mind a bit. I’m so sorry for Cork.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Why does champagne make you feel so uplifted?’

  ‘A good question.’ He topped up her glass. ‘Something smells good.’

  Claudia drained the cabbage, chopped it fine, added nutmeg and a squeeze of lemon and put it on the dish Thomas had got from the dresser. She had creamed the potatoes with plenty of butter and milk and dished up the peas; now she laid the salmon on two warmed plates and took it to the table.

  ‘Not very exciting, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘But there’s a nice piece of Stilton for pudding!’

  Mr Tait-Bullen, who had snatched a sandwich for his lunch, cleared the plate. ‘You’re a good cook,’ he told her. ‘What a treasure I have married.’

  Claudia went pink. ‘Well, I can’t cook anything fancy. Great-Uncle William didn’t hold with spending a great deal of money on what he called “elaborate food” so I became good at fancying up sausages and things.’

  ‘Tell me more about your great-uncle,’ suggested Thomas and filled her glass again.

  And Claudia, nothing loath, her tongue nicely loosened by the champagne, told—until she stopped suddenly. ‘I’m being boring. It’s all the champagne—you should have stopped me...’

  Mr Tait-Bullen, enjoying himself, made haste to assure her that he hadn’t been in the least bored. ‘After all, we know very little about each other even now.’

  While she made coffee he went to look at Cork.

  ‘Sleeping like a baby. Now, let us discuss the cottage. As soon as Cork is better, we will spend a day at Child Okeford, see what is to be done and get hold of a builder. We had better find a gardener, too, to get the place into some shape before we can take over. I’ll get hold of the estate agent—he may be able to recommend someone. We will try not to alter the place too much, but the barn will need a secure door and a firm run-in for the car. Had you thought of anything you wanted changed or added to?’

  Claudia shook her head. ‘I loved it as it was. Will it take long, the necessary repairs and the garden?’

  ‘It shouldn’t. We can choose carpets and furniture once we have all the measurements. A local firm, I think, don’t you? Sherborne or Shaftesbury.’

  ‘Carpets and curtains,’ said Claudia happily, ‘and comfortable furniture. Thomas, it will cost an awful lot of money...’

  ‘Probably, but it will be our second home, won’t it? We mustn’t spoil the ship for ha’porth of tar.’

  They washed the dishes together then, and in no time at all, it seemed, it was five minutes to midnight.

  Cork was still asleep. Thomas came back into the kitchen, filled their glasses and went to stan
d by her. As the clock struck midnight they toasted the New Year, and then he took the glass from her hand, put it with his on the table and bent to kiss her. An unhurried, gentle kiss, quite different from his usual rather brisk salute, it stirred something inside Claudia’s person, and she stared up into his face, vaguely puzzled.

  He was as calm as he always was. ‘A Happy New Year, my dear.’

  ‘You, too, Thomas.’ She paused. ‘You’re quite happy, aren’t you? I mean, with us being married? We’re good friends, aren’t we? And I promise I’ll not get in your way—with your work, you know. When we married I hadn’t thought of all the things which could go wrong.’

  He had seen the puzzled look; his Sleeping Beauty was beginning to wake up. He said in a matter-of-fact manner, ‘I’m very happy, Claudia. Getting married was something I should have done years ago—to you, of course!’

  ‘Well, you didn’t know me, did you? Do you have to go to the hospital tomorrow—no, today?’

  ‘No, unless I’m needed. Supposing we go down to the cottage?’

  ‘But we can’t leave Cork.’

  He took the phone out of his pocket and dialled.

  ‘A male nurse will be along at eight o’clock. He’ll stay with Cork until we get back. He’s a good man—kind and trustworthy.’

  ‘But won’t he be on duty?’

  ‘No, he has days off, and he’ll be glad of the fee.’

  ‘Oh, won’t anyone mind?’

  He smiled and shook his head, and she said, ‘Are you so important that you can do things like that?’