A Winter Love Story Page 15

  ‘I must admit to having a certain amount of clout.’

  ‘Well, it would be marvellous. All day? We must take a notebook and pen and a tape measure. But only if Cork feels better...’

  ‘Of course. Now, go to bed, Claudia. If we’re to leave early you’ll need your beauty sleep.’ He added, ‘You don’t need any beauty sleep, actually. You’re already as beautiful as it is possible to be.’

  A remark so unlike Thomas that she stopped to stare at him. Then, ‘It’s all that champagne,’ she told him. ‘You’re looking at me through rose-coloured spectacles.’

  Thomas only smiled, and he didn’t kiss her as she went past him. She was quite disappointed.

  Mr Tait-Bullen saw to Cork, locked up and took himself off to his study. He still had reports to read, patients’ notes to examine, his workload to be checked. Harvey went with him, to snooze on his shoes until Thomas went to his bed after a last visit to Cork, who, while still very much under the weather, was prepared to stay alive after all.

  Claudia woke soon after six o’clock and went down to the kitchen to make tea. She peeped at Cork, made him another jug of lemonade, laid the table and went back to dress. A day at the cottage meant sensible clothes: the leather jacket, a sensible tweed skirt and a pullover. She made short work of her hair, did almost nothing to her face and went back downstairs. She could hear the murmur of voices from Cork’s room as she set about frying bacon and eggs and making toast, and presently Thomas came in with a short, middle-aged man.

  He wished her good morning and added, ‘This is Sam Peverell, my dear. Sam, my wife. We’ll have breakfast as soon as it’s ready. You know what to do for Cork, and you can reach me on my mobile, of course, if you need me. We should be back in the early evening.’

  Claudia piled plates with bacon and eggs and made more toast. ‘I’ll put your lunch ready for you, Mr Peverell, and a tray for tea. There are oranges and lemons in the fridge, and milk and yoghurt. So will you help yourself?’

  ‘Certainly, Mrs Tait-Bullen.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘Phone calls, sir?’

  ‘I’ll put on the answering machine. But get hold of someone at the hospital if you’re worried.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to come, Mr Peverell,’ said Claudia. ‘On your day off, too. We’re awfully grateful.’

  ‘No problem, Mrs Tait-Bullen. My wife’s gone to her mother’s, and the girls are spending the day with friends.’

  ‘You have daughters?’

  ‘Two, fourteen and sixteen, and you wouldn’t believe what a worry they are...’

  Mr Tait-Bullen sat back, listening to Claudia charming Sam—a martinet on the ward, a splendid nurse and reputed not to have much of an opinion of young women. His Claudia, he reminded himself, who was a delight to the eye and the ear and whom he loved.

  They left well before nine o’clock, and, since the streets were almost empty after the night’s celebrations, they were on the motorway in no time at all. They stopped at a service station after more than an hour’s driving, had coffee and allowed Harvey a brief stroll before resuming their journey. Claudia felt a little thrill of excitement as Thomas turned the Rolls into the network of small lanes which would lead them to Child Okeford. Supposing they didn’t like the cottage now that they had the leisure to look it over?

  ‘Where’s the key?’ asked Claudia, a bit late in the day.

  ‘I’m to fetch it from the end cottage as we pass.’

  The village was quiet, its inhabitants no doubt sleeping off the excesses of the previous night, but when Thomas knocked on the cottage door he was soon given the key; several keys, in fact.

  The cottage looked a bit forlorn, for it was a dull morning with the hint of rain, but Claudia, seeing it in her mind’s eye with roses round the door, curtains at the open windows, the garden full of flowers, skipped inside the moment Thomas had the door open.

  They went slowly from room to room, checking them with the particulars which the estate agent had sent. The cottage was in good heart, its small windows secure and solid, large cupboards, the stairs sound. The kitchen would need cupboards and shelves, and an Aga, and its flagstone floor cleaned, but the vast stone sink was something Claudia wanted to keep.

  They went round a second time while Claudia argued the merits of porridge-coloured carpeting against different colours in each room. Thomas listened patiently, told her to have whatever she liked and suggested that they went and looked round the garden. It was larger than they had first thought, and there were apple trees forming a screen between the garden and the open fields beyond.

  ‘We can grow vegetables,’ said Claudia, quite carried away, ‘and there’s space for a little greenhouse, and we could have a small summer house in that corner, so that you could have somewhere quiet to go.’

  Thomas agreed gravely, waiting to see if she would suggest a swimming pool, but she didn’t. She did suggest a rockery, and a little pool where frogs might live.

  They went to the village pub presently, and ate a ploughman’s lunch and emptied a pot of coffee between them. The cottage was every bit as delightful as they remembered it—better, even, for now they had explored it from bottom to roof.

  ‘I’ll get on to the agent tomorrow,’ said Thomas, ‘and get things started.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Do you want to see your mother and George as we go back?’

  ‘May I? Is there time? And what about Cork?’

  ‘I’ll check when we go back to the cottage. We must lock up properly.’

  Claudia beamed at him across the pub table. ‘Oh, Thomas, I’m so happy...’

  Chapter NINE

  CLAUDIA’S GLOW OF happiness lasted until they were back home. They had called at George’s house, had tea with him and her mother and stayed for a while. Claudia and her mother had a lot to say to each other, but, mindful of Cork, she’d got up at once when Thomas suggested mildly that they should go. It wasn’t for a while that she’d realised Thomas was rather silent. She’d stopped talking then, sitting quietly beside him, still happy, her thoughts busily occupied with the cottage.

  It wasn’t until they were home again, and Sam Peverell had given his report, pocketed his fee and gone home, and she had been to see Cork and gone to the kitchen to get a meal, that she realised that Thomas, after seeing Sam Peverell off home and spending a short time with Cork, had gone to his study and shut the door.

  It was as if he had erected an invisible barrier between them. She told herself that he was probably tired or had work to do, and that the faint air of reserve would have disappeared by the time their supper was ready.

  Lamb chops, sprouts, potatoes and mint sauce. Plain fare indeed, but it was already after seven o’clock and she still had to cook... She rummaged around in the cupboards, found what she wanted, made an apple pie and popped it in the oven and then made an egg custard for Cork. He was feeling more himself, assuring her that he would be on his feet in another day or so, adding, with a touch of suspicion, that he hoped she could find everything she wanted in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, indeed I could, Cork, and I’ve been careful to put everything back where it belongs.’ She gave him a motherly smile. ‘We do miss your lovely cooking.’

  Cork, still pale and poorly, nevertheless looked smug at that.

  The first few days of January went swiftly by; Claudia enjoyed them, for she was kept busy shopping and cooking, and although Mrs Rumbold came each day there was always something to be done: the flowers to arrange, the phone to answer, the bills to pay. She was careful to ask Cork’s advice about most things, and in a few days, when he was feeling better, he sat by the Aga, warmly wrapped, and advised her about the best methods to cook their meals.

  She found this rather tiresome, since she was a capable cook, but she knew that he meant it kindly and nothing would have induced her to snub him. And Cork, fo
r his part, acknowledged the fact that she was an ideal mistress, never encroaching on his preserves while asserting a gentle authority. The master was a lucky man.

  The master was a busy man, too, away early in the morning and for the most part not back again until the early evening. He made time, though, to visit Cork, and spent what leisure he had in Claudia’s company, although she sensed his reserve towards her. She tried to remember if she had said or done something to annoy him and wondered if she had disappointed him in some way. One day, she promised herself, when he wasn’t away from home so much, she would ask him.

  Cork, back on his feet once more, took over his normal duties again. He made her a little speech of thanks with the voice and manner of a benevolent person, making it quite clear that, much though he had appreciated her help, he no longer required it. Claudia, thrown back onto her own resources, took long walks with Harvey, drank coffee with various of the wives she had met at the ball and ploughed her way through the books in Thomas’s study, not understanding them by half but feeling that by doing so she was bridging the gap which she felt was between them.

  It was something of a relief when he told her that he had to go to Liverpool for two or three days, and would she like to visit her mother?

  ‘I can drop you off on my way, and then why not bring your mother back here for a day or so? There’s the possibility that I may go on to Leeds and have to spend the night there.’

  ‘I’d like that, Thomas. I’ll phone Mother. I’m sure she’d love to come, and we might do some shopping.’

  ‘Yes, well, take her to Harrods or Harvey Nichols and use our account.’

  He looked so kind when he said it that she was tempted to ask him if there was anything wrong, but she didn’t; he had come home later than usual and he looked tired.

  Harvey was to stay with Cork, for she intended to stay only one night at George’s house; she and her mother could return by train and they would spend two days together. Her mother hadn’t seen Thomas’s home, and Claudia was longing to show it to her. They could have a good gossip and shop. She got into the car two days later, on a still dark morning, and Thomas drove out of town, leaving Cork and a protesting Harvey behind.

  ‘I hope Harvey won’t pine,’ said Claudia, ‘and that Cork will take care of himself...all alone,’ she added doubtfully.

  ‘I should imagine that he is pleased to see the back of us. He now has the opportunity to take a nap when he feels like it, and rearrange everything around the house to his satisfaction. He will spoil Harvey, bully Mrs Rumbold and probably drink my port.’

  She laughed. ‘He’d never do that. He’s your devoted slave.’

  ‘And yours, I fancy. I’ll phone you this evening, but don’t worry if you don’t hear from me after that. I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.’

  They didn’t talk much, just casual remarks from time to time, and although Thomas was friendly it was as though the real Thomas was hidden behind this pleasant man sitting beside her. She could say something about that now, she supposed, but then changed her mind. He wouldn’t want to be bothered when he had the seminar ahead of him to think about.

  They reached George’s house by mid-morning and, despite her mother’s pleas that he should stay for lunch, he was on his way again after a cup of coffee. Claudia went with him to the car and he kissed her lightly as he got in. She poked her head through the window as he was about to drive off.

  ‘Do be careful, Thomas, and I hope everything is successful.’

  Her face was very close to his, and he drew back with a jerk, an action which sent a cold shiver down her spine. She stood back, fighting sudden tears. It was as though he couldn’t bear her near him. When he got home again they would have to talk...

  She enjoyed her day with her mother and George. That they were quietly happy together was evident, and Mrs Pratt and Tombs were, in their own way, just as happy. George drove them over to Child Okeford one evening, and they looked round the cottage. She hadn’t got the key, but the builders had already started on the repairs and they peered through the windows and explored the garden. George pronounced it a nice little property, and her mother could find no fault with it.

  She bore her mother off to London the next day. Thomas had phoned on the previous evening, expressed the hope that she was enjoying herself and warned her that he might not phone her for a couple of days. He had sounded friendly, but even over the telephone she’d imagined she could hear the constraint in his voice.

  Her mother was delighted with the London house. She professed herself overwhelmed with its comfort and luxury, and Cork’s perfections. Claudia took her walking in the park with Harvey, and the next day went shopping with her. George had given her money with which to buy herself something she liked, and Claudia, mindful of Thomas’s suggestion, persuaded her mother to accept a cashmere twinset, and the wool skirt which went so well with it...

  Thomas had told her not to expect to hear from him for a day or so, but all the same she was disappointed that there was no word from him. She had to explain this to her mother, who said roundly, ‘The poor man. It’s time he slowed down. After all, he’s a married man now. His work is important, but so is his married life.’

  Claudia said cheerfully, ‘He loves his work, Mother, but once the cottage is ready we shall be able to spend weekends there, away from his patients.’

  She took her mother to the station the following morning and saw her onto the train. Feeling suddenly lonely, Claudia lingered at the station entrance, trying to decide whether she would join the taxi queue or walk home. She could cross the road and go through Hyde Park—quite a long walk, but it would fill in her morning.

  She had left the park, crossed Park Lane and was walking along Brook Street when she came face-to-face with Honor.

  She summoned a social smile and a hello, and went on walking, but Honor put out a hand so that she was forced to stop.

  ‘Claudia—it is Claudia, isn’t it? How delightful to meet you again. I’ve been away. I can’t stand London at this time of year. I phoned Thomas at his rooms before I left, and he told me that you were very occupied getting ready for Christmas. Such a bore, having to go all that way to the Lakes just for a couple of days.’

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ said Claudia. ‘Nice to see you again. I really must get on...’

  Honor didn’t let go of her arm. ‘My dear, you can spare half an hour, surely? Let’s have a cup of coffee...?’

  Against her will, Claudia agreed. Perhaps Honor really was an old friend of Thomas’s, in which case she shouldn’t be rude—besides, Honor was making herself pleasant.

  Over coffee, after a witty account of her holiday in Italy, Honor began asking questions put so casually it was difficult to ignore them.

  ‘Thomas is away?’ she asked. ‘Off on one of his jaunts?’

  ‘Well, it’s not a jaunt. He’s in Liverpool, and probably going on to Leeds.’

  ‘Has he taken Emma with him?’ Honor gave Claudia a sly glance. ‘His secretary goes everywhere with him. A beautiful creature—very efficient and very sexy. Of course, now he’s a married man, I expect he’s more discreet.’

  ‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.’

  Honor said quickly, ‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. I quite thought you knew. After all, it isn’t as if you and Thomas are desperately in love—anyone could see with their eyes that neither of you are...’ She paused as Claudia got to her feet.

  ‘You’re talking rubbish, and spiteful rubbish at that,’ said Claudia. ‘If making mischief is all you know how to do, I pity you.’

  ‘You’re upset,’ said Honor. ‘Naturally. You don’t have to believe me, but if you ring Thomas’s rooms I’m quite sure that Emma won’t be there.’

  ‘I’ll do no such thing,’ said Claudia. ‘Goodbye, Honor, I hope we don’t need to meet again.’ />
  Honor had a parting shot. ‘You wouldn’t dare find out for yourself.’ She laughed. ‘But I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that Thomas won’t be home for a few more days.’

  Claudia didn’t answer that, but walked out of the elegant café where they had been sitting and then walked all the way home.

  This gave her time to remember every word Honor had said, and to assure herself over and over again that nothing would induce her to phone his rooms—a nasty, low-down action not to be contemplated.

  She hardly touched the lunch Cork had ready for her; she took Harvey for his afternoon walk, and the moment she got back picked up the phone.

  Mrs Truelove answered. After an exchange of pleasantries, she said that, no, Emma wasn’t there. ‘She doesn’t come in when the Professor is on one of his trips. A most efficient girl,’ enthused Mrs Truelove, ‘quite indispensable.’

  Claudia chatted for a few minutes before putting down the phone. Mrs Truelove hadn’t asked her why she had rung, and she hoped that she wouldn’t wonder about it later. She felt mean and wicked and disloyal, but no more so than Thomas...

  ‘I hate him,’ said Claudia to Harvey, and burst into tears. She didn’t hate him, she loved him, and what a time to discover it.

  Before she’d made that shattering discovery it wouldn’t have mattered about Emma—after all, he had never said that he loved her or was likely to do so. Theirs was to be a sensible marriage, wasn’t it? So he was free to do what he liked, wasn’t he? She knew that he would never be unkind to her, would always be a friend, even be a little fond of her and share at least some of her life, but now, with the discovery that she loved him, that wouldn’t do.

  This was something they would have to talk about. She would never tell him that she had fallen in love with him, but she would make sure that he wasn’t having second thoughts about their marriage. And he would be home the next day.

  She had pecked at her dinner and was poking her needle in and out of her tapestry when Thomas phoned. He would be delayed for another day, perhaps two, he told her. ‘I’m in Leeds. I’ll come home as soon as possible.’