The Engagement Effect: An Ordinary GirlA Perfect Proposal Page 2

  ‘I must go. It’s been such fun and I quite forgot the time. James will be wondering what’s happened to me.’ She gave a little trill of laughter. ‘It’s such a good thing he always does exactly what I want.’

  She put on her coat and spent a few moments examining her face in her little mirror. She added a little lipstick and went down to the hall with Coralie. Saying goodbye was a leisurely affair, too, but the butler had opened the door and she hurried out into the blinding snow.

  The doctor had the door open for her. He leaned across to shut it as she got in and asked in a quiet voice, ‘What kept you, Sybil? A few minutes was the agreed time.’

  ‘Oh, darling don’t be cross. I haven’t been very long, have I? Coralie insisted that I had a cup of tea.’ She turned a smiling face to him.

  ‘You were half an hour.’ His voice was expressionless.

  Her smile disappeared. ‘What if I was a bit longer than I said? I won’t be ordered around and I won’t be hurried. Now for heaven’s sake let’s get back to town.’

  ‘That may not be possible.’

  He drove carefully, for the snow was drifting and visibility was almost non-existent. The big car held the road well, but it was now pitch-dark and there was no lighting on the narrow country roads. He came to the crossroads, drove through Wisbury and onto the crossroads after it. It was as he drove into Nether Ditchling that a flashing blue light from a police car parked on the side of the road brought him to a halt.

  A cold but cheerful face appeared at the window. The professor opened it and a policeman, muffled against the weather, poked his head in.

  ‘Road’s closed ahead, sir. Are you going far?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Not a chance. They’ll have the snowploughs out on the main roads, but they won’t get here much before tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Is there no other way? We’ve come from Netherby.’

  ‘Just had a message that the crossroads at Wisbury are blocked. You’d best put up here for the night.’

  Sybil said suddenly, ‘I won’t. I must be taken to London. Of course there’s another road we can use…’ Both men looked at her, and she added furiously, ‘Well, do something, can’t you?’

  A tall figure in a hooded cape had joined them.

  ‘Officer Greenslade? Can I be of help to you?’

  ‘Reverend—I’ve suggested that these folk put up in the village, for they can’t go anywhere else tonight.’

  ‘Then let me offer them a meal and a bed.’

  The Reverend Selby poked his head through the window in his turn. ‘You car will be safe enough here. My wife will be delighted to help you.’

  Professor Forsyth got out and made his way round to Sybil’s door. ‘That’s most kind of you—we shan’t be too much trouble?’

  ‘No, no—and Greenslade, if anyone else needs shelter send them along to the vicarage.’

  Sybil, for once mute, was helped up the short drive to the vicarage door and into the hall, where she stood watching the men shed their coats and cloak. She looked forlorn and very pretty, but the only feeling the professor had for her was one of exasperation. Nevertheless he unbuttoned her coat and took it off her, and then held her arm as they followed their host through the hall and into the kitchen.

  This was a large room, with an old-fashioned dresser, a vast table with an assortment of wooden chairs around it and an elderly Aga giving out welcome warmth.

  Mr Selby led the way to the two shabby Windsor chairs by the Aga, gently moved a cat and kittens from one of them, and said, ‘My dear, we have guests. The road is closed and they can go no further.’

  Mrs Selby gave them a warm smile and said, ‘You poor things. Sit down and I’ll make tea—you must need a hot drink.’

  Professor Forsyth held out a hand. ‘You’re most kind and we’re grateful. My name’s Forsyth—James Forsyth. This lady is my fiancée, Miss Sybil West.’

  Mrs Selby shook hands and turned to Sybil. ‘This is horrid for you.’

  Sybil lifted a lovely wistful face. ‘Yes, I’m so cold and hungry, and we should be in London. If I could go to bed, perhaps I could have a small meal on a tray…’

  James said evenly, ‘You’ll warm quickly here, and you have no need to go to bed.’ He stopped speaking as the door opened and two girls came in, both fair-haired and pretty and smiling.

  ‘We heard the car. Are you cut off from the outside world?’ One girl offered a hand. ‘I’m Flora and this is Rose. There are three more of us, but Lucy’s spending the weekend with friends and Katie’s finishing her homework. And Philly…’

  A door at the back of the kitchen opened, letting in a great deal of cold air, and Philomena, wrapped in a variety of coats and scarves, with her head tied in some kind of a hood, came in.

  ‘I got the chickens in, but we’ll have a job to get to them by morning.’

  She cast off some of the garments and looked across the kitchen at the tall man standing beside her father. ‘Oh, hello, you were in that car…’ She smiled at him and then saw Sybil, crouching by the Aga. ‘And you, too,’ she added cheerfully. ‘Are you going to spend the night?’

  She had taken off the last coat and pulled the hood off her head. ‘I’ll go and make up some beds, shall I, Mother? Rose will give me a hand.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Her mother was pouring tea into mugs and inviting the professor to sit down. ‘Let me see. Miss…’ She turned to Sybil with a smile. ‘West, isn’t it? You had better have Katie’s room; she can go in with you. Rose and Flora can share, and Mr Forsyth…’ Her eye fell on the bag he was carrying. ‘Are you a doctor?’ When he nodded, amused, she said, ‘Doctor Forsyth can have the guest room.’

  As Philly and Rose left the room she added, ‘They’ll put clean sheets on the beds, and if you’re tired, which I expect you are, you can go to bed when we’ve had supper.’

  ‘We are putting you to a great deal of trouble. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No, no. It’s stewed beef and dumplings, and there is plenty of it. Also there’s an egg custard in the Aga.’

  ‘Then if you’ve no need of Doctor Forsyth’s services, my dear,’ observed her husband, ‘I’ll take him along to my study while you and the girls get supper.’

  There was the table to lay, more potatoes to peel, plates and cutlery to get from cupboards and drawers. Mrs Selby and Flora talked as they worked but Sybil stayed silent, fuming. A spoilt only child in a wealthy household, she had never done anything for herself. There had always been someone to wash and iron, cook meals, tidy her bedroom, to fetch and carry. Now she was dumped in this ghastly kitchen and James had left her with no more than a nod.

  He would pay for it, she told herself silently. And if he and these people expected her to sit down and eat supper with them, they were mistaken. Once her room was ready she would say that she felt ill—a chill or a severe headache—and they would see her into bed and bring her something on a tray once she had had a hot bath.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a bang on the front door and voices. Philly ran to open it and returned a moment later with an elderly couple shedding snow and looking uncertain.

  ‘Officer Greenslade sent them here,’ announced Philly. ‘They are on their way to Basingstoke.’

  She began to unwind them from their snow-covered coats. ‘Mother will be here in a moment. Our name’s Selby—Father’s the vicar.’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Downe. We are most grateful…’

  ‘Here’s Mother.’ Philly ushered them to the Aga and introduced them, and Flora pulled up chairs.

  ‘A cup of tea to warm you?’ said Mrs Selby. ‘There’ll be supper presently, and you’ll sleep here, of course. It’s no trouble. Here’s my husband…’

  The vicar and the professor came in together, and over mugs of tea the Downes reiterated their gratitude and, once warm, became cheerful.

  Philly and her mother, busy at the Aga, rearranged the bedrooms.

  ‘Rose and Flora can manage in Lucy’s room
; Mr and Mrs Downe can have their room.’ So Rose went upstairs again, and then led Mrs Downe away to tidy herself and find a nightie.

  It was time she dealt with her own comfort, decided Sybil, since James was doing nothing about it.

  ‘I feel quite ill,’ she told Mrs Selby. ‘If I’m not being too much of a nuisance I do want to go to bed. If I could have a hot bath and just a little supper?’

  Mrs Selby looked uncertain, and it was Philly who answered with a friendly firmness.

  ‘No bath. There’ll be just enough hot water for us all to wash—and if you go to bed now, I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to do anything about your supper for a bit.’ She smiled, waving a spoon. ‘All these people to feed.’

  ‘But I’m ill…’ Sybil’s voice was lost in a commotion at the door again.

  It was PC Greenslade again, this time with a solitary young man, his short jacket and trousers soaking and caked with snow.

  ‘Got lost,’ said the policeman. ‘On his bike, would you believe it? Going to London.’

  There was a general reshuffle as everyone moved to give the young man a place near the Aga. More tea was made and then the policeman, suitably refreshed, went back to his cold job while the young man’s jacket was stripped off him.

  He thanked them through chattering teeth. He was on his way to see his girlfriend in Hackney, he explained. He was a seasoned cyclist, rode miles, he added proudly, but like a fool he’d taken a shortcut recommended by a friend and lost his way…

  ‘You poor boy,’ said Mrs Selby. ‘You shall have a hot meal and go straight to bed.’

  Professor Forsyth said quietly, ‘After a good rub down and dry clothes. You said that there will be no chance of a hot bath? He does need to get warm…’

  The vicar spoke. ‘If everyone here will agree, we will use the hot water for a bath for this lad. There will still be just enough for a wash for the rest of us.’

  There was a murmur of agreement and he led the young man away.

  ‘But I wanted a bath,’ said Sybil furiously.

  ‘But you’re warm and dry and unlikely to get pneumonia,’ said James, in what she considered to be an unfeeling voice.

  The electricity went out then.

  He told everyone to stay where they were, flicked on the lighter he had produced from a pocket and asked Mrs Selby where she kept the candles.

  ‘In the cupboard by the sink,’ said Philly. ‘I’ll get them.’

  There were oil lamps, too, in the boot room beyond the kitchen. He fetched them, lighted them, and carried one upstairs to the vicar and his charge. The people in the kitchen were surprised to hear bellows of laughter coming from the bathroom.

  Philly had filled a hot water bottle, and when the Professor reappeared thrust it at him. ‘He’ll have to sleep in your bed,’ she told him, and when he nodded she went on, ‘I’ll bring blankets down here and when everyone has gone to bed you can have the sofa. You won’t mind?’

  ‘Not in the least. Shall I take some food up? Clive—his name’s Clive Parsons—is ready for bed.’

  ‘Mother has warmed some soup. Katie can bring it up—she’s the youngest. She’s been doing her homework; she’s very clever and nothing disturbs her until it’s finished. But she should be here in a minute.’

  ‘Homework in the dark?’ he asked.

  ‘She’ll be reciting Latin verbs or something. I told you she was clever.’

  The professor, beginning to enjoy himself enormously, laughed, received the hot water bottle and, presently back in the kitchen, devoted himself to improving Sybil’s temper.

  This was no easy task, for she had taken refuge in a cold silence, which was rather wasted as everyone else was busy relating their experiences in the snow and speculating as to what it would be like in the morning.

  Presently the vicar came to join them. Katie had taken a bowl of soup with a dumpling in it up to Clive and had left him to enjoy it while they all gathered round the table.

  The beef, stretched to its limits, was eked out by great mounds of mashed potatoes and more dumplings and was pronounced the best meal eaten for years. There was more tea then, and everyone helped to clear the table and wash up. Sybil’s wistful excuses that she would like to help but she had to take care of her hands went unheeded. The professor, in his shirtsleeves, washed the dishes while Mr Downe dried them and Mrs Downe and Mrs Selby found more candles and candlesticks.

  Philly had her head in the kitchen cupboard and the girls were laying the table for breakfast.

  ‘Porridge?’ queried Philly to the room at large. ‘For breakfast,’ she added.

  There was a general murmur of agreement but Sybil said, ‘I thought porridge was what poor people in Scotland ate. I’ve never eaten it.’

  The doctor said briskly, ‘Well, now will be your chance. It’s the best breakfast one can have on a cold winter’s morning.’

  She glared at him. ‘If no one minds, I’ll go to bed.’

  Philly gave her a hot water bottle and a candle. ‘I hope you feel better in the morning,’ she said kindly. ‘Remember about the hot water, won’t you?’

  The doctor abandoned the sink for a moment and went to the door with Sybil.

  He gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning,’ he told her bracingly. ‘We are very lucky to have found such generous kindness.’

  He smiled down kindly into her cross face, aware that the feeling he had for her at that moment wasn’t love but pity.

  Sybil shook off his hand and turned to Katie, waiting to show her the way, and followed her without a word.

  There had been a cheerful chorus of ‘goodnight,’ as she went, now followed by an awkward silence. The professor went back to the sink. ‘Sybil has found everything rather upsetting,’ he observed. ‘She will be fine after a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Which reminds me,’ said Philly. ‘Clive’s in your bed. I’ll get some blankets and a pillow for the big sofa in the sitting room. You’re too big for it, but if you curl up you should manage.’

  Everyone went thankfully to bed, leaving the professor, with one of the reverend’s woolly sweaters over his shirt, to make himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa. As he was six foot four inches in his socks, and largely built, this wasn’t easy, but he was tired; he rolled himself in the blankets and slept at once.

  He opened his eyes the next morning to see Philly, wrapped in an unbecoming dressing gown, proffering tea in a mug.

  Her good morning was brisk. ‘You can use the bathroom at the end of the passage facing the stairs; Father’s left a razor for you. The water isn’t very hot yet, so I’ve put a jug of boiling water on the kitchen table for you.’

  He took the mug, wished her good morning, and observed, ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘Not just me. Rose has gone to wake the Downes, but we thought we’d better leave Clive until you’ve seen him—in case he’s not well.’

  ‘Very well. Give me ten minutes.’

  In a minute or two he made his way through the quiet cold house. Someone had drawn the curtains back and the white world outside was revealed. At least it had stopped snowing…

  He found the bathroom, shaved with the vicar’s cutthroat razor, washed in tepid water, donned the sweater again and went to take a look at Clive.

  He had recovered, except for the beginnings of a nasty head cold, and professed himself anxious to go to breakfast.

  ‘No reason why you shouldn’t. If you’re still anxious to get to London as soon as the road’s clear I’ll give you a lift. We can tie your bike on the roof.’

  With the prospect of the weather clearing, breakfast was a cheerful meal. The porridge was eaten with enthusiasm—although Sybil nibbled toast, declaring that she hadn’t slept a wink and had no appetite. But her complaining voice was lost in the hubbub of conversation, heard only by the doctor sitting next to her.

  ‘If the snowplough gets through we will be able to leave later today,’ he told her, and then, h
earing Philly saying in a worried voice that the hens would be snowed in, he volunteered to shovel a path to their shed.

  So, in the vicar’s wellies and with an old leather waistcoat over the sweater, he swung the shovel for a couple of hours. When he had cleared a path Philly came, completely extinguished in a cape, carrying food and water to collect the eggs. ‘Enough for lunch,’ she told him triumphantly.

  The worst was over; the sun pushed its way through the clouds, the snowplough trundled through the village and they lunched off bacon and egg pie with a thick potato crust to conceal the fact that six eggs had been made to look like twelve.

  The Downes were the first to go, driving away carefully, hopeful of reaching Basingstoke before dark. Half an hour later the doctor left, with a transformed Sybil, wrapped in her coat and skilfully made up, bestowing her gratitude on everyone.

  The doctor shook hands all round and held Philly’s hand for perhaps a moment longer than he should have, then ushered Sybil into the car, followed by Clive. They had roped the bike onto the roof and Clive, despite his cold, was full of gratitude to everyone. Well, not Sybil. He had taken her measure the moment he had set eyes on her, and why a decent gent like the doctor could be bothered with her he had no idea. He blew his nose loudly and watched her shudder.

  The Bentley held the road nicely, but travelling at a safe speed they wouldn’t reach London before dark. The doctor settled behind the wheel and wished that they had been forced to spend a second night at the vicarage, although he wasn’t sure why.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SYBIL forgot her sulks as they neared London, and she ignored Clive’s cheerful loud voice, too. She said softly, ‘I’m sorry, darling. I did behave badly, didn’t I? But, really, I did feel ill, and it was all so noisy. No one had any time for poor little me—not even you…’

  She gave him a sidelong glance and saw with disquiet that he wasn’t smiling. He was going to be tiresome; she had discovered that he could be. He assumed a remoteness at times which was a bit worrying. She was used to being admired and spoiled and she was uneasily aware that he did neither. Which was her reason for captivating him and—eventually—marrying him. She didn’t love him, but then she didn’t love anyone but herself. She was ambitious, and he had money and enjoyed a growing reputation in his profession, and above all she wanted his unquestioning devotion.