Midsummer Star Read online

  Colonel Baylis ignored the sign and went back into his study with the new batch of books from Hatchett’s, but his wife wandered down to the gate and admired it in her gentle way. ‘Very nice, dear,’ had been her comment. ‘I hope someone comes today.’

  But no one did. The next day passed, and the next. The Colonel said nothing, he ate his meals almost in silence and then went back to his books, and Mrs Baylis said hopefully: ‘Well, it was a splendid idea, darling, I’m sure someone will come soon.’

  ‘They’d better,’ observed Celine darkly, and went outside, where she relieved her feelings by painting a gutter she had managed to heave back into its rightful place. She was perched half way up the ladder when the car came up the drive, and when it stopped and two elderly ladies got out she came down pretty smartly and went towards them.

  Retired schoolteachers, she thought, taking in the sensible skirts and blouses and cardigans, and said good afternoon politely.

  The older and taller of the ladies addressed her with faint hesitation. ‘You do bed and breakfast?’ she asked. ‘We’re looking for somewhere quiet and not expensive.’

  ‘It’s very quiet,’ said Celine, trying not to sound eager. She told them the charge for bed and breakfast, adding the cost of dinner, should they like an evening meal.

  The ladies exchanged a glance. ‘If we might see the rooms? We should require two rooms, of course.’

  ‘Do come in,’ invited Celine, and just stopped herself from dancing through the hall and up the stairs.

  She showed them the two nicest single rooms there were, at the back of the house, and as luck would have it, one of the bathrooms was just across the passage.

  ‘No washbasins,’ commented the younger of the two ladies.

  ‘It’s a very old house,’ said Celine. ‘Tudor, you know, and modernising it has been very difficult. But this bathroom will be for your sole use.’

  ‘We’ll take the rooms, and we should like dinner. Do you have a varied menu?’

  ‘Hors d’oeuvres, local trout, vegetables from the garden, egg custards and cream or rhubarb tart and cream. Chicken supreme if you would like that, but it would take a little longer. We have a good cellar too.’

  She smiled at them both. ‘I’ll fetch your bags,’ she told them. ‘Would you like tea? Just tea and sandwiches and cakes,’ she added, giving them the price.

  ‘That would be nice.’ The older of the pair joined her. ‘I’ll get our cases from the boot and perhaps you’ll tell me where to put the car.’

  Barney was crossing the hall as they went downstairs, and Celine gave a silent chuckle; he gave just the right touch to the house and she knew that her companion was impressed. She called softly: ‘Barney, would you be good enough to take these ladies’ cases to the back wing? And then go and ask Angela to make tea for two?’

  She showed the lady where to put the car in the vast covered barn beside the garage and ran back to the house. Her mother was in her own small sitting-room, writing letters.

  ‘Mother, we’ve two guests—tea and dinner as well. Shall I put them in the small drawing-room?’

  ‘Darling, how marvellous! Yes. Shall I go along presently? Does your father know?’

  ‘Not yet. Will you tell him? I’m going to the kitchen to help Angela.’

  It was really rather fun, Celine decided as she got ready for bed that night. The ladies had eaten their tea, served on a silver tray and with paper-thin china, in the smaller drawing-room, not much used because it was so damp in winter, but very impressive with its painted panelled walls and Regency furniture. And they had dined equally splendidly in the dining-room at the back of the house which Celine had set out with several small tables, nicely laid with linen damask which had been stored away for years. She had waited at table herself and had enjoyed it all, although now she was in bed, she felt tired. But who cared about being tired, she told herself, when there would be money in the household purse in the morning.

  The Misses Phipps left soon after breakfast, making for Wales. ‘If we’d known that this part of Dorset was so charming we might have stayed,’ they explained. ‘We’ve always driven straight through before, along the main roads, but pure chance brought us here.’

  ‘And let’s hope that pure chance brings a few more this way,’ said Celine, standing beside her mother outside the door. ‘I’ll just get the beds made up and then get the washing machine on the go. Do you think Barney could get the fire laid in the sitting-room? Just in case…’

  She smiled at her mother, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and ran indoors.

  It was after tea when two cars turned into the drive. They stopped untidily and the man behind the wheel of the first car got out. Celine had seen them from her bedroom window and reached the open door just as he came in.

  He was a large, cheerful type and his, ‘Hullo, love,’ was hearty. ‘Can you do bed and breakfast for six? And what’s the damage if we stay? Two kids, mind. We’ll want three rooms.’ He eyed Celine, very pretty in a deceptively simple jersey dress which had cost far too much the previous summer. ‘You the lady of the house?’

  ‘No, the daughter. Yes, we have rooms for you,’ and Celine recited the charges.

  He looked doubtful and her heart sank. ‘Proper rooms?’ he wanted to know, telling Celine what they had paid at their previous night’s hotel.

  ‘We aren’t a hotel. But the rooms are—are quite proper and our cook is excellent. Perhaps you would like to see a room before you decide?’

  Celine led the way upstairs, past the family bedrooms and those with the fourposters and the lovely views, and showed him three rooms in the east wing, all charming, although she very much doubted if he would appreciate them.

  ‘Old house, isn’t it, love?’ he enquired. ‘Can’t see any washbasins.’

  ‘It’s Tudor, and we don’t have washbasins, I’m afraid, but there is a bathroom here.’ She opened a door and let him look in.

  ‘Looks all right,’ he said. ‘OK, we’ll sleep the night. And have a meal—we’re pretty peckish—How long will we have to wait?’

  ‘Less than an hour. If you like to settle in and then come downstairs…’

  ‘No chance of a beer, I suppose?’

  ‘I’ll ask my Father to fetch some up. Lager or ale?’

  ‘A pint of mild and bitter’ll suit me, Grandpa the same, I daresay—the ladies will want a drop of port, I daresay.’

  They went downstairs again and Celine pulled the embroidered bell rope by the front door for Barney—’Some luggage to take up to the east wing, please, Barney’—and he followed her out to the cars. There were several small cases; she hoped they would tip him, she must remember to ask him.

  They were a noisy lot and the children, eight or nine years old, were whining that they wanted ices. Sharp slaps from their mother, a high-complexioned young woman in tight jeans, stopped them whining and started them crying instead. Grandpa and Grandma, bringing up the rear, had little to say, only stared around. Celine left them thankfully and shut the doors on them all while she went to find her mother and father.

  ‘I’ve put them in those rooms in the east wing,’ she explained. ‘They look—well, I wouldn’t like them to damage anything…’

  ‘Should we use the silver?’ asked Mrs Baylis.

  ‘If they’re paying what we ask, they’re entitled to the best treatment,’ pronounced the Colonel sternly.

  But it was hard to give the best treatment to people who didn’t really mind if they got it or not. They ate a delicious dinner and pronounced it nice enough, but regretted loudly that there were no chips. They also commented upon the dreary paintings on the walls, and long-dead Baylises stared back at them haughtily. They wanted sauce with almost everything they ate and spilt things on the tablecloths. All the same, Celine rather liked them. They would have been much happier at Mrs Ham’s down the lane, for to them, the house was just a tumbledown place, too dark and furnished with out-of-date stuff they didn’t fancy. She made a point of aski
ng them what they would like for breakfast and got up very early to cycle down to the village to get the cornflakes they fancied and the kipper fillets Grandma hankered after.

  They ate a huge breakfast, and now that it was a bright morning and the house was alight with sunshine, they were more at ease. ‘Haunted, are you?’ asked Grandpa.

  Celine shook her head. ‘No—everyone who’s lived here has been happy, you see.’

  ‘Pity for a pretty girl like you to be stuck in the country,’ he observed.

  Celine smiled at him. ‘Ah, but I’m a country girl,’ she told him.

  It took a little time to get them away. Barney, looking every inch the English butler, carried down the luggage, helped stow it and received a tip with dignity. Celine was tipped too; she detected uncertainty in the man’s manner as he pushed it into her hand, so her smile was charming as she thanked him. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I hope you all enjoyed your short stay.’

  ‘Not ‘arf,’ said Grandpa. ‘It’s a sight better than Butlins.’

  The two cars disappeared through the gate, and Celine went to the sitting-room where her mother was counting money.

  ‘My dear!’ she exclaimed, looking quite excited. ‘All that money—and all for nothing, as it were!’

  Celine didn’t correct her. There was the little matter of four beds to strip and make up, three rooms to clean and the dining-room to put in order.

  ‘It’s a good start, darling. Let’s have coffee. Do go and tell Father and I’ll go to the kitchen.’

  Barney met her with a grin. ‘Five pounds, Miss Celine—not bad, eh?’

  ‘Super, Barney. Angela, they gave me five pounds for the cook.’ She handed over her own tip and made her way upstairs.

  It was a lovely day. By lunchtime everything was just as it should be once more, and the three of them had their meal on the covered verandah at the side of the house, and afterwards Celine wandered into the garden and sat down under the mulberry tree. She was half asleep where she sat when she heard a car coming up the lane, she was strolling towards the front door when a Rover turned in at the gate.

  There were three people in it, but only the driver got out. Celine stood still, her lovely mouth very slightly open, her breath stilled. Here was the man she had always dreamed about, tall, dark, handsome in the best tradition of romance and smiling at her as though she was the answer to his dreams too.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘You look like a fairytale princess. We saw your notice at the gate—any chance of putting the three of us up for a few days?’

  A few days! She couldn’t believe it: all these years, waiting for him, and here he was. She smiled and looked so breathtakingly beautiful that he blinked.

  ‘Yes, of course. How many—how many rooms would you need?’

  ‘One for my parents, one for me. Come and meet them.’ He put a hand on her arm. ‘The name is Seymour—Nicky. What’s yours?’

  ‘Celine Baylis.’ She stole a glance at him and found him smiling.

  ‘What a lovely name—it suits you.’

  His parents had got out of the car and were looking round them, the man elderly, upright and grey-haired, his wife almost as tall, very slim and well dressed. The best bedrooms, Celine decided as they shook hands.

  They were delighted with their rooms and the tea which Celine served in the garden under the trees. She longed to stay and talk to Nicky Seymour, but her mother had asked her to make a special effort with dinner. ‘They might stay a few days if they like the food,’ she said, ‘and they seem such nice people—your father and Mr Seymour seem to have a lot in common.’ She added: ‘I like his wife too, and their son seems a nice young man.’ She sat quietly for a moment, adding up the charges. ‘That’s quite a lot, and they’ve had tea and I heard him asking about wines with their dinner.’ She beamed at Celine. ‘I put a bowl of anemones in their room.’

  Celine bent and kissed her mother’s still pretty cheek. ‘You’re a wizard with flowers,’ she told her, and sped to the kitchen where she and Angela between them conjured up homemade soup, trout with almonds, lamb cutlets with spinach from the garden and a rhubarb crumble with cream. It was after they had eaten these that Mr Seymour declared himself willing to remain for at least three days, especially as the Colonel had offered him a rod on the stretch of river running through his fields.

  ‘And I shall just sit,’ declared his wife. As for Nicky, he said nothing, but he had smiled at Celine in a way to make her heart beat very fast indeed.

  The next two days passed delightfully. Mrs Baylis was happy, doing little sums on the backs of envelopes, the Colonel was happy because he had congenial guests who appreciated the wines he had to offer them, Mr and Mrs Seymour were content to relax and Celine and Nicky spent a good deal of time together; every moment that she could spare, in fact. The mornings were busy enough, what with beds to make and rooms to tidy, but lunch was cold and salads took no time to make, so that after she had served their meal, cleared away and had hers with her mother and father, there was a good deal of the afternoon left. Her one secret dread had been that other people might arrive and want rooms too, but this didn’t happen, so she was free to stroll in the gardens or walk down to the village with Nicky, who proved to be a delightful companion and a very attentive one; the world had suddenly become a splendid place in which to live and the future full of vague but delightful promise.

  It was on the third day, as they strolled back from a walk beside the stream, that Nicky caught her by the arm and turned her round to face him.

  ‘I can’t believe my luck,’ he told her, ‘finding you here. I didn’t know there were girls like you left in the world. We shall be going in a day or two, we’ve a family to visit in Wales, but when we get home, you’re coming to stay with me.’

  Celine was too honest to pretend that she wasn’t delighted. ‘Oh, Nicky, that would be super! Don’t you work, though? What do you do?’

  He kissed her before he answered. ‘Oh, I’m learning to step into Father’s shoes, I suppose.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Working in London is boring, but of course we spend a good deal of time in Berkshire.’ He smiled at her. ‘London will be fun if you’re there—we’ll dine and dance and go to a few shows…’

  She drew a little way away from him. ‘It sounds heavenly, but I couldn’t possibly come until the autumn—we might be very busy until then.’

  He said carelessly: ‘Can’t you leave that to someone else? Hire someone from the village?’

  ‘No. I started it, you see, so I must see it through, but no one comes this way once the summer’s over.’

  He shrugged impatiently. ‘Oh, well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?’ He sounded so offhand that she had a mind to say that she would go to London just whenever he wanted her to, indeed her mouth was open to utter the words when she heard her mother calling her, and something urgent in the sound of it sent her flying up to the house.

  They were all in the hall; Colonel and Mrs Baylis, Barney, Angela, Mrs Seymour and Mr Seymour, who was lying on the floor unconscious.

  ‘Celine…’ begged her mother in a wispy voice. Celine knelt down beside the elderly man and took a good look. He was breathing, but in a heavy stertorous way and he made no response to her urgent voice.

  ‘Barney, telephone Dr Grady—ask him to come at once. Mother, turn back the bed in the dressing room by Mrs Seymour’s room. We’ve got to get him upstairs.’

  She looked around her and her father nodded. ‘Right—but we’ll need more help…’

  Nicky had been standing well back, but now he came forward and said reluctantly: ‘You’ll need a hand. What’s the matter with him?’

  Celine was too anxious to do more than feel momentary surprise at his words, but perhaps he was so shocked… They picked Mr Seymour up carefully, the three of them, and got him upstairs and on to the bed. Celine took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket and undid his tie. ‘We’d better not do anything else until Dr Grady comes. I’ll stay he
re with him, if you like, Mother, I’m sure Mrs Seymour would like a cup of tea…’

  She had expected Nicky to stay too, but he didn’t, she found herself alone with the quiet figure on the bed, trying to think sensibly. Would Mr Seymour go to hospital—and the nearest one was at Dorchester, quite a way away—or would he have to stay where he was, in which case it wouldn’t be practical to have any one else in the house. She went to the bed and stood looking down at the nice elderly face, flushed now and somehow one-sided. As she looked, the lids lifted and the faded blue eyes stared back at her. She bent down and caught one of his hands in hers. ‘Mr Seymour, it’s all right. You’re in bed, the doctor is coming…’

  He tried to speak and she bent lower to hear him. After several attempts he whispered thickly: ‘Oliver—send for Oliver.’

  She murmured soothingly. Who in the world was Oliver?

  The hand in hers stirred urgently. ‘Oliver…’ He was lapsing into unconsciousness again and remained so until Dr Grady came into the room.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said softly. ‘Stay here, will you? In case—In case I need anything—his wife is too upset. Has he roused?’

  ‘Yes, he managed to say something. Send for Oliver—I expect Mrs Seymour will know who that is.’

  ‘We can ask presently.’ He began his examination and presently straightened. ‘A stroke, but not too severe. A week’s rest—he’ll have to stay here. I’ll get hold of a nurse, then as soon as he’s fit enough he can go home by ambulance.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’m being hopeful, mind you.’