Fate Is Remarkable Page 6

  He chuckled. ‘No. But I’ll let it pass this once. After all, we must be frank with each other, must we not?’

  They were on the A30 now. Hugo passed three crawling cars and raced ahead of them down the empty road. He sat relaxed at the wheel, checked the car’s controlled rush momentarily at a crossroads, gave her head once more and glanced at Sarah. ‘Do you drive, Sarah?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, at home—a little. I think I should be scared in London.’

  ‘I’ve a Rover TC 2000. You shall try it out, and if you like it you shall have it for your own use—you’ll need a car, you know. I’m almost never home during the day and you’ll want to get out and about.’

  He spoke carelessly and Sarah was conscious of a faint chill, but before she had time to think about it, he went on, ‘Another thing. I’ve a small cottage in the north-western Highlands; I wondered if you would like to go there for a week or two after we’re married—it’s very quiet and remote and the scenery is magnificent.’

  She was grateful he hadn’t said honeymoon. ‘Mrs Brown told me you had a house in Scotland. Yes, I’d like that very much—it sounds delightful. What do you do there? Fish?’

  ‘Yes—and walk, and there’s a garden I work in, although a man in the village below looks after it—his wife sees to the house.’

  ‘Where is it?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Wester Ross, overlooking Loch Duich. It’s about forty miles from Inverness. The cottage is perched on the hillside. There’s a tiny village—I suppose you would call it a hamlet—a mile below and a small place called Dornie four or five miles away.’

  ‘I shall like it,’ Sarah declared positively. ‘Now I know why you’ve got an Iso Grigo. It must be five hundred miles.’

  ‘Five hundred and seventy-two. Sometimes in the summer I do the through trip.’

  She made a small protesting sound and he laughed.

  ‘Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds, because I stop to rest and eat. But we’ll take two days over it when we go and stop the night somewhere this side of the border.’

  They were beginning to leave the spreading fingers of London behind them now. It wouldn’t be long before they were in Basingstoke.

  ‘There’s a good road through Laverstock to Andover,’ she offered, ‘and you can turn off at the crossroads before you reach the town and take the Salisbury road.’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll do that—we can stop at Overton and have coffee at the White Hart.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve been this way before.’

  ‘Yes, years ago.’ He spoke shortly, and she knew with the same certainty as though he had told her that he had been with the girl he had wanted to marry. Impulsively she said:

  ‘Hugo, I don’t mean to pry, but if you want to—to talk about her—the girl you loved—love, I won’t mind; it helps to talk about such things, and I think I know how you feel.’

  There was a small tremor in his voice when he answered; she thought it was emotion. ‘Thank you, Sarah. I think perhaps I shall tell you about her, but not, I think, until we have been married for a while and have a complete understanding of each other.’

  It wasn’t quite a snub, but she coloured a little none the less because there were other questions, and perhaps he was a man who didn’t brook questioning. She asked in a dogged voice:

  ‘May I know something about your family? Mother is bound to ask …’ she hesitated. ‘Of course, I know what the grapevine says about you, but that isn’t always very accurate.’

  He said on a laugh, ‘I should imagine not, although I think you must know that I’m not English. That at least is true.’ He glanced sideways at her and she nodded. ‘My parents live in Holland, north of Arnhem. My father is a retired doctor. I have three sisters, they’re ten years or more younger than I—they’re all married with children. Two of them live in Holland, my youngest sister lives in France. There are cousins and aunts and uncles, of course, though I see very little of them, save for three aunts who live together in Alkmaar.’

  ‘You don’t want to live in Holland?’

  ‘Not at present—maybe, when I retire, I would go back, but that would depend on your wishes too. My father came to England in the twenties; he had a Leiden degree—he took a degree at Cambridge too. He met my mother here—she was visiting her grandparents, as her mother was an Englishwoman. They married and returned to Holland where I was born. I followed my father’s pattern—Leiden and then Cambridge. It was there that I met Janet and I decided to stay in England. I had inherited the house at Richmond and it was already a second home to me. Even when there was no reason for me to remain there any longer, I had my work and friends in England, and Holland is near enough for me to go over whenever I wish.’ He paused and went on in a lighter tone, ‘I think we must go there in the late summer so that you may be welcomed into the family.’ He was silent for a moment, then enquired blandly, ‘Is there anything else you would like to know?’

  She heard the blandness so that her voice was stiff. ‘No. Thank you for telling me what you have. Please understand that I have no intention of being inquisitive, but if I’m to marry you I must know the—the bare bones of your life. I can assure you,’ she went on, getting haughtier with each breath, ‘I’ll not trouble you with any unnecessary questions.’

  He didn’t answer, but to her surprise pulled the car on to the side of the road and stopped. He looked serious enough, but she had the suspicion that he was secretly laughing at her.

  ‘I’m not sure what I have said, that you should be so high and mighty. My dear girl, you may ask as many questions as you wish and I’ll engage to answer them as truthfully as I am able—and if I don’t wish to give you an answer, I shall say so, and I hope you will do the same. And there is no question of your inquisitiveness or any other such nonsense, so let us have no bees in our bonnets on that score.’

  Sarah saw him smile. His large hand covered hers for a moment. She stared at it; it was a nice hand, cool and firm and reassuring. She said a little awkwardly, ‘I expect I shall say a great many silly things until I …’ she paused. ‘If you’ll bear with me—you see I can’t help thinking that I …’ she stopped.

  ‘Will be jilted again?’ He asked the question cheerfully. ‘That is something I can promise you won’t happen—I can give you proof of that.’ He searched through his pockets and eventually found a small box. There was a ring inside—a magnificent diamond in an old-fashioned setting. He picked up her left hand and fitted it on. ‘There,’ he said, ‘now you have the token of my firm intention to marry you.’

  She was a little breathless. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed at length. ‘How extraordinary that it fits—is it old?’

  ‘It’s been in the family for two hundred years or so—and it’s not at all surprising that it should fit. There is a legend that it fits only upon the finger of the woman destined to be a van Elven bride.’

  Sarah was holding her hand up the better to admire the ring. ‘I feel like Cinderella. Thank you very much, Hugo—I’ll wear it with pride.’ She said, giving him a quick glance through her lashes, ‘I’m sorry I was silly just now.’

  He bent his head and kissed her on the cheek—a casual friendly salute that made no demands of her, and started the car again. ‘Never silly,’ he stated positively. ‘And now what about that cup of coffee?’

  Sarah found the rest of the trip delightful; she had always thought Hugo to be taciturn, but now, away from his work, she realised how mistaken she had been. He was amusing and considerate and restful. She had never met a man who was so completely untroubled. By the time that they had reached Salisbury they were on the best possible terms with each other. He skirted the town and took the Blandford road, and after about ten miles, she said, ‘You turn right at Sixpenny Handley, then right again after a mile.’

  The very small village was tucked away between the folds of the hills. There was a large church, a small pub, a manor house, a scattering of cottages and a handful of pleasant houses standing on their ow
n. They had to go through the village before they reached Sarah’s home; it stood back from the lane, its grey stonework brightened by the spring flowers which filled its garden. Hugo turned in at the propped-open gate and drew up at the front door which was immediately opened by Sarah’s mother, a woman in her fifties and still wearing the traces of a beauty as splendid as her daughter’s. She was beautifully groomed and well dressed. She was clasping a knife and a cauliflower closely to her. Sarah embraced her warmly, took the knife and the cauliflower from her with an air of having done it before, and introduced Hugo. Mrs Dunn shook hands, studying him in a manner which might have shaken a lesser man and then said sweetly:

  ‘So much better than Steven, darling.’ She smiled at them both. ‘Come inside, my dears. Your father is in the sitting room.’

  They followed her, and as they went Sarah felt the pressure of Hugo’s hand on hers. It was surprising, but she was sure that he was more at ease than she herself was. Her father was sitting behind the Sunday Times which he put down as they entered. He kissed her heartily and stared at Hugo as she introduced him. Apparently he liked what he saw, for after a series of polite but guarded questions, answered equally politely, he felt free to pour the sherry.

  As the day wore on, it was obvious to Sarah that her parents found Hugo an acceptable son-in-law. It was a pity that she had no opportunity to have five minutes alone with him, in order to find out what he thought of them. When she and her mother at length went up to bed, leaving the two men to talk, he went to the door with them and after ushering her mother through it, put out a detaining hand.

  ‘Do you take the dogs out before breakfast?’ he asked quietly, ‘because if you do, I should like to come with you.’

  ‘Half past seven—in the kitchen,’ Sarah said promptly, so glad that he wanted to be alone with her that she smiled widely, so that the dimple in her cheek made her look like a little girl again. ‘Good night, Hugo.’

  She went to sleep almost at once, thinking with pleasure of the morning.

  She was down first and had made the tea when he arrived. They sat in the deep window seat drinking it, while the dogs whimpered with impatience at their feet. It was a lovely morning, with a clear blue sky and almost no wind, nor any sound other than the birds singing and someone a long way off, calling the cows. Sarah had put on an oatmeal-coloured skirt and a matching silk shirt-blouse, and had slung a vivid pink cardigan across her shoulders. She tried not to notice Hugo studying her over his mug of tea and was pleased out of all proportion when he remarked:

  ‘You look nice, Sarah. I like the way you dress—you even wear your uniform with éclat.’ He added speculatively, ‘I wonder who I shall get in your place?’

  Sarah felt a sudden vague surprise that she hadn’t thought of that at all, and now that she did, the idea of another girl taking her place at Hugo’s clinic didn’t please her at all. She looked thoughtful without being aware of it and was secretly delighted when he observed:

  ‘Someone like Sister Evans would do nicely.’

  Sister Evans was fiftyish, homely in appearance and cosy in manner—and she was happily married. Sarah looked at him to see if he was joking, but although his grey eyes were alight with laughter he went on soberly enough: ‘Not even the grapevine could do much about her, could it?’ He put down his cup. ‘I must see what I can do.’

  They went out of the back door, the Colonel’s two labradors and Sarah’s mother’s corgi circling around in a very frenzy of excitement. They went through the kitchen garden and opened the little arched door in its wall and so into a lane that presently became a path which wound up the bare hill before them. At the top they paused to admire the view.

  ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Sarah remarked. ‘When I feel miserable sometimes, I think of this view.’

  ‘And have you felt miserable, Sarah?’

  ‘You know I have. Oh, not only just these last few weeks—I think I knew in my heart that Steven wouldn’t marry me, only I pretended to myself that he would. I know now that I’ve been pretending for almost three years. I suppose I shall get over it—perhaps I don’t love him as you’ve loved your Janet, because I believe I shall recover, and you never have, have you?’

  He had bent to pat one of the dogs so that she couldn’t see his face.

  ‘I gather the grapevine has you very well informed,’ was all he said.

  On the way back, he caught her hand and held it lightly as they walked and told her a little of his work. He was a busy man; it seemed that she would see very little of him during the week. She remarked upon this in a rather wistful voice, to have it pointed out to her bracingly that they would spend most of their evenings together and that weekends were usually free. She agreed and on a happy thought, enquired if he took his dogs for a walk each morning.

  ‘Yes, always. Would you come with me? It would be pleasant and give us time to talk, just as we have been talking this morning.’ He stopped and turned her round to face him. ‘No regrets?’ he asked.

  ‘No, none. It’s funny, but you don’t seem strange—I mean, it’s as though I’ve known you for a long time.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘But, my dear girl, you have—three years, is it not? One gets to know someone very well indeed when one works with them.’

  They started to walk again. ‘What will you do with Mrs Brown?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Leave her where she is for as long as possible. In fact, I think she would prefer to die there rather than go back into hospital—I should imagine that she has a couple of months—maybe less.’

  ‘You won’t mind if I go and see her sometimes? And do you suppose we could find a home for Timmy?’

  He said at once. ‘Of course you can go and see her when you like. I shall have to visit her when we get back; her own doctor is away ill and I suggested I took her over until he is back again. As for Timmy, he can come to us—Alice will be delighted.’

  It wasn’t until they were in the kitchen garden again that she asked:

  ‘Do you like Mother and Father, Hugo?’

  ‘Very much,’ he replied promptly. ‘And I’m sure they will get on excellently with my parents. Your mother wasn’t disappointed that we want to be married quietly?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Yes, she was really. I suppose mothers always want their daughters to wear white satin and a veil.’

  ‘Do you want to wear white satin, Sarah? We could easily arrange …’

  She sounded quite apprehensive. ‘Oh, no. I’d like it to be just us and our mothers and fathers.’

  His voice was smooth. ‘Would you have worn white satin if you had married Steven?’

  She was a truthful girl. ‘Yes. I used to think about it sometimes—girls do, you know. But that isn’t the reason why I want a quiet wedding with you. That sounds silly because I’m not sure what the reason is; but when I am, I’ll tell you.’

  He loosed her hand, and put a great arm around her shoulders.

  ‘You’re a nice girl, Sarah,’ he said placidly. He somehow made it sound like a delightful compliment.

  She was sorry to see him go that evening, at the end of a day which had seemed too short. They had been to see the vicar about the wedding, and on the way home had sat on a fallen tree trunk in the warm sunshine and talked like old friends. They parted like old friends too, although he hadn’t kissed her, but taken her hand and said in a casual manner:

  ‘I’ll be back at the weekend, Sarah. Enjoy your holiday.’

  And he had gone, leaving her with the feeling that she would have liked to have gone back with him.

  But the week went quickly. Her mother, showing an unexpectedly practical turn, whisked her off to Salisbury to buy clothes, an undertaking much enhanced by the size of the cheque which her father had given her. Moreover, the village sheltered among its inhabitants a dressmaker of incredible skill; a retiring, middle-aged little woman, who on casual acquaintance looked incapable of hemming a duster, but who in the privacy of her Edwardian front parlour became a kind of
haute couture fairy godmother. Sarah spent a sizeable part of each day closeted with this paragon, listening to her soft country voice discussing patterns and materials, and later to stand, more or less patiently, to be pinned and fitted … but whenever she could escape the mild hubbub of a quiet country wedding, she took the dogs and wandered for miles, thinking about Hugo, and regrettably, of Steven.

  If her parents thought of Steven, though, they gave no sign of it, nor, she was glad to discover, did they talk incessantly of Hugo—it seemed that they had accepted him and were content. Just as she would be content, she told herself with a rather painstaking frequency, once she could forget Steven.

  There were flowers for her mother during the week, with a correct note from Hugo and a letter for herself—a brief letter written in his small, almost unreadable handwriting. It was the kind of friendly note she occasionally had from her brother. She read it several times, but by no flight of imagination could it be altered into anything else. She sighed without knowing it, and put the letter in the frivolous beribboned sachet which held her handkerchiefs, telling herself that that was what she wanted anyway—what he had promised to be—a friend and companion, who would maybe, over the years, develop an affection for her as she would for him—once she had Steven out of her system.

  He had said that he would arrive in time for lunch on Saturday. It was a glorious warm morning; even after she had done a few chores around the house and arranged the flowers, and done her hair and then done it again, there were a couple of hours to spare. She whistled up the dogs and strolled away, up the hill behind the house. She was lying on her back in the short springy grass, with a fine disregard for her twice-done hair, when Hugo sat down beside her. Sarah sat up at once.

  ‘Hugo! I was going to be home, waiting for you.’ She put a questing hand up to her flyaway hair. ‘I’m all untidy.’

  He studied her with deliberation. ‘I like it like that—have you had a pleasant week?’