Sun and Candlelight Page 7

  He didn’t smile, but she saw that he didn’t quite believe her. ‘I wouldn’t,’ she repeated vehemently.

  He nodded. ‘It’s a pity that we weren’t able to talk about it. Promise me, Alethea, that you will tell me if things worry you. Perhaps I can’t help, but I can listen, and telling is half the answer, you know.’

  ‘You’re a dear,’ she said warmly, ‘and I was silly about it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not silly. Loving someone can be the very devil. You’re managing very well. There’s only one more week to go, isn’t there? I shall be back on Saturday of next week and we’ll go over to Holland on Sunday. No, better still, we’ll go over on Saturday from Harwich— I want to take the car, we’ll have to fly another time. Could you be ready?’

  Alethea said that yes, she could, quite easily. She would be off duty for the last time at six o’clock and they wouldn’t need to leave until eight o’clock. ‘If this weather holds it will be pleasant driving up to Groningen in the early morning, you’ll be able to see something of the country as we go.’

  She exerted herself to ask questions after that and by the time they had strolled back to the hospital she felt much happier. She told Sarre so and he chuckled. ‘Well, don’t imagine it was my company, much more likely to be that wine we drank.’

  She laughed with him and lifted her pretty face for his kiss. It was neither quick nor light this time. ‘I hope you will miss me,’ said Sarre. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  She told herself as she got ready for bed that he had kissed her like that because she had been upset about Nick. He really was very clever, for he must have known that she had needed something like that to restore her self-respect and make her feel that even if Nick didn’t want her, there were others who did. Their marriage might work very well, she mused; in any case it stood just as much chance as some of the marriages among her friends, which hadn’t worked well at all, despite their declarations that they would love each other for ever and ever.

  Alethea turned restlessly in her bed. She supposed that some couples, but not very many, really did love each other for the rest of their lives. An enviable state, but not for her. All the same, if Sarre and she could remain as they were, good friends and liking each other’s company, then the future wasn’t going to be too bad; there would be no deep feelings to hurt, no jealousy, probably no quarrelling. She thought that Sarre would be a difficult man with whom to quarrel and as she was even-tempered there should be no reason for them to fall out. She fell asleep, lapped in a feeling of security.

  With Sarre gone, the week turned out to be surprisingly long; she had got used to seeing his vast form amble on to the ward and even if there had been no opportunity to talk, it had been pleasant to see him there. But as it turned out, the week, long though it seemed, wasn’t long enough. The last two days of it she spent every spare moment packing up her possessions, some to be left to be fetched when she got back from Holland, some to be taken with her. She had managed to do some shopping, splashing out rather on a wedding outfit of champagne wild silk and a straw hat to go with it, a small brimmed affair with silk flowers around the crown. She would probably never wear it again, but it had looked so right… She had bought a cotton jersey two-piece to wear in Holland too; she already had an almost new lightweight coat which would go very well with it. Sarre hadn’t said just how long she would be there and the weather was getting warmer every day, so she packed slacks and tops to suit all weathers, a couple of thin dresses, a skirt or two and some pretty blouses and her velvet blazer. She possessed only two evening dresses, and she packed them both, wishing as she did so that she need never again wear the one she had bought specially for Nick.

  She was ready and waiting on the Saturday evening when the Porter’s Lodge telephoned the Home to say that she was wanted in the front hall. She had wished her friends goodbye, thanked them for the early morning tea service which they had given her, bade goodbye to Sir Walter and her ward staff and somehow avoided meeting Nick. She went out of the Nurses’ Home and into the hospital, praying fervently that she wouldn’t meet him now. She almost did; she saw him coming towards her down the opposite passage to hers, both of which led to the main hall entrance. They would meet there unless she either hurried her pace or slowed down to a crawl and there was nowhere to go, she was bound to meet him. They reached the hall at the same time and she brushed past him to where she could see Sarre waiting. He had seen her too; he was beside her in a few quick strides, his hands on her shoulders, smiling down at her, while she was aware that Nick had crossed to the porter’s lodge and was watching them.

  ‘You grow prettier each time I see you,’ declared Sarre, and kissed her. A quick light kiss but still a kiss. She smiled at him, knowing that Nick was still watching. ‘It’s been a long week,’ she told him. ‘I’m quite ready if you want to go now.’

  He said lightly: ‘Why not? I’ve seen everyone I needed to see. The ferry goes at ten-thirty, we’ll stop and have dinner on the way. If we hurried we could go and see your grandmother if you particularly wanted to…’

  She shook her head. ‘I telephoned her today, she doesn’t expect us, and if we went now she and Mrs Bustle would want to give us a meal and there wouldn’t be time for that. I told her I’d telephone when we get back.’

  ‘My dear girl, you can telephone her the moment we arrive home. We can talk over dinner—we have quite a few things to discuss.’

  She could see out of the corner of her eye that Nick was walking away. When he had disappeared she said: ‘I’ll get my bag, it’s in the Home still.’

  ‘And I’ll walk with you.’

  And a good thing too as it turned out, for Nick must have hurried round the back of the hospital and in at the other side so that he couldn’t help but meet her if she went back to the Home. He came face to face with them outside the Home door and Sarre said pleasantly: ‘Ah, good evening, Penrose,’ and stopped long enough to add: ‘I hear that the shoulder we did is making good progress. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, but he’ll be gone by then, I suppose.’ He nodded a casual goodbye and opened the door for Alethea.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he told her, ‘waiting.’

  The Jaguar ate up the miles, heading for Harwich and the night ferry, and Alethea, sitting beside Sarre, listening to his casual conversation, felt a surge of excitement. Until that moment, everything had seemed like a dream, an improbable one which wasn’t likely to come true, but it was coming true. Perhaps she should have insisted upon more time in which to make up her mind, she was suddenly beset by any number of vague fears, not one of them concrete enough to furnish her with enough material to worry over, yet all of them looming at the back of her head like a creeping fog. ‘Sarre,’ she began, to be instantly hushed by his:

  ‘Don’t say it, Alethea, you’re scared, aren’t you? It’s actually happening, isn’t it? and you feel as though you’re being hustled and bustled into something you’re suddenly not sure about. But you’re not; you’re coming to spend a few days with me and my family and if at the end of that time you feel you can’t go through with it, then all you have to do is say so. I told you that, my dear; the door is still wide open for you to escape.’

  He made it sound so logical and normal, she said at once: ‘Of course you’re right, Sarre—it’s last-minute nerves…’

  He chuckled. ‘Cured by a drink and dinner! We’ll stop at Marks Tey.’

  They had plenty of time; they dined at leisure and then went on again, arriving exactly at the right time to go on board without a long wait. Rather to Alethea’s disappointment, Sarre showed no inclination to keep her up talking; he suggested that she went straight to her cabin, told her that he had arranged for her to be called in the morning and wished her a friendly goodnight, and despite her vague peevishness at this she slept well and her good humour was quite restored by his cheerful greeting when she went on deck after her morning tea. The ferry was on the point of docking and she looked about her with interest; true, the Hoek of
Holland looked very much like Harwich, but it was a foreign country and she had never travelled outside Great Britain before. Sarre stood beside her, watching the bustle on the quay until it was time for them to get into the car, drive through Customs and finally start on their journey to Groningen.

  It was still very early, not yet seven o’clock, but there was a good deal of traffic on the road. Sarre drove towards den Haag, bypassed that city and took the motorway north. He travelled at speed now until they were north of Leiden, when he turned on to the Haarlem road with the remark that they would stop for breakfast very shortly. Alethea would have been content to go on; she was hungry, but there was so much to see that that didn’t seem important at the moment. All the same, when they stopped presently at a charming restaurant in the woods outside that city she discovered that she was ravenous and fell to on the rolls and toast, the thin slices of ham, the eggs and cheese with which their table was laden. ‘I shall get fat,’ she observed comfortably as she poured more coffee for them both. ‘You don’t eat a breakfast like this every morning, do you?’

  Sarre nodded. ‘Oh, yes—not quite as much, perhaps. You will quickly become accustomed to it.’

  ‘Will your children be at home when we get there?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘They come out of school at twelve o’clock, and we should be home well before then. If you’re quite finished we might as well go.’

  They didn’t talk a great deal; Sarre pointed out anything which he considered might interest her and she asked questions—not as many as she would have wished, but she knew that he wanted to reach Groningen as quickly as possible and he was nice enough to slow down each time she exclaimed over something which caught her eye. It was eleven o’clock as they reached the outskirts of the city; Alethea heard the church clocks chiming the hour, one after the other. It was a pleasant welcoming sound and it made her feel a little less strange. She got out her compact and powdered her pretty face and added a little more lipstick, and was surprised to see how composed was her reflection while her insides churned with excitement and a vague fear that something would go wrong. Nothing was ever what one expected; certainly Groningen, from what she could see of it as Sarre wound his way to the centre of it, was far more beautiful than she had imagined, with its old houses bordering the canals and its lovely churches. They swept past the university and Sarre said: ‘We’re almost home,’ and she braced herself, wondering what home would be like. She had imagined red brick, but Sarre had been telling her that many people lived in flats; perhaps he had a flat too.

  He turned the car into a narrow street which converged into a wider one, lined with trees and with a narrow canal running through it; there were bridges along its length and tall important houses on both sides of the cobbles. It was quiet there and after the busyness of the main streets it was like passing into another world and age.

  Sarre slowed the car and then stopped. ‘Here we are,’ he told her, and leaned across to open her door before getting out himself.

  It wasn’t red brick and it wasn’t a flat, but a thin old house, towering to four storeys, its elaborate gable crowning its flat face. The door was old too and stout, with large windows on either side, and rows of windows above, decreasing in size at each floor until the top one of all, set directly under the steep gable. Alethea turned to look at Sarre who had come round the car’s bonnet to shut her door. ‘It’s not a bit what I expected, it’s quite—quite beautiful and very large.’

  He looked up at his home. ‘It is a lovely old place,’ he conceded, ‘it’s also full of passages and unexpected stairs and funny little rooms, highly inconvenient, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope you’ll like it too, Alethea.’

  ‘Oh, I shall!’ She stared up at him earnestly. ‘It’s just that I’m surprised.’

  He laughed a little and took her arm as they crossed the brick pavement and went up the three steps to the front door. It opened as they reached it and a middle-aged man with a merry face stood back as they went inside.

  ‘Welcom ’ome, guvnor, an’ you, miss.’ He sketched a little bow at her and while she was still swallowing surprise Sarre said easily: ‘Ah, Al, it’s good to be back. How’s everything?’

  ‘OK, Guv.’ He grinned engagingly at Sarre, who went on: ‘This is Miss Thomas, Al, my fiancée. You’ll look after her.’

  ‘Course I will.’ He gave her a friendly respectful look. ‘Right proud we are to ’ave ’er, too.’ He opened an inner door and Sarre took Alethea’s arm and drew her into the hall, a narrow lofty corridor stretching seemingly endlessly before them. She looked round her curiously, a little taken aback with the splendid marble-topped side tables and the panelled walls hung with paintings. There was no sign of a staircase, but when they were halfway down the hall she saw it, at right angles to the hall, a handsomely carved one, its oak treads worn by countless feet. Al had slipped ahead of them and opened another door and they went into a fair-sized room. There were no windows but light came from the enormous windows of a much larger room into which it led. Al shut the door quietly behind him and Sarre took his hand from her arm and she stood just where she was, looking about her. Nothing was as she had expected it to be. The sensation that she was having a dream, a nice one, but a dream all the same, came over her.

  She looked at Sarre, standing a few paces from her, his hands in his pockets, his head a little on one side, watching her. ‘Al—’ she began, ‘he’s a Cockney! However did he get here?’

  ‘It’s a long story. He’s been with me for a long time now. He’s a splendid fellow, I’d trust him with my life.’

  ‘And you’ve got a Scottish housekeeper.’ She sounded almost accusing.

  He laughed at that. ‘So I have. Poor Alethea, I do believe you expected wooden shoes and baggy trousers.’ He was suddenly beside her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘My dear, I’m unkind to tease, but I never thought to tell you about Al—to tell you about anything, I suppose. You are always so sensible and serene…’

  ‘Not always,’ she reminded him.

  He kissed her cheek. ‘You are exactly the kind of wife I want—we shall get on famously,’ he promised her. Somehow the casual friendly way he said it chilled her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to feel chilled for long, though. Before she had time to answer Sarre, Al was back with a tray of coffee and following hard on his heels, the housekeeper.

  ‘Mrs McCrea,’ Sarre introduced her to Alethea, ‘who has been with us since I was a very small boy and is our staunch friend as well as the best housekeeper in the world.’

  ‘Go on with you, sir,’ declared Mrs McCrea comfortably, ‘though I’m sure we all do our best to make you comfortable. We all wish you and Miss Thomas a long and happy life together.’ She beamed at Alethea, her small bright blue eyes twinkling, and took the hand she was holding out. ‘And here’s a bonny girl,’ she observed, ‘if you’ll pardon me saying so.’

  Alethea smiled widely at her. They were going to like each other; Mrs McCrea was small and round and motherly and her voice was soft with the unmistakable Scottish lilt. There wasn’t an ounce of guile in her and Alethea thought that probably she had never been unkind to anyone in her life. The slight chill she had felt melted and disappeared altogether at Al’s warm: ‘A real beaut, begging yer pardon, miss. We’re proud ter ’ave yer in the ’ouse.’

  A remark which she rightly took to be a compliment indeed.

  ‘They’ll be your devoted slaves,’ observed Sarre when they were alone again. ‘They have been urging me to marry for several years now.’

  ‘Oh—is that why you asked me?’ Alethea hated herself for asking but her tongue had run away with her.

  He gave her a long look and she saw suddenly that his usually placid features could become ruthless and remote. ‘No. I asked you to marry me for the reasons which I gave you. I have great regard for Al and Mrs McCrea, but neither they nor anyone else dictates my life for me.’ He moved away from
the chair he had been leaning against. ‘Won’t you sit down and have some coffee?’

  Alethea stayed just where she was. ‘I’ve annoyed you,’ she said in a voice she might have used to calm a troublesome patient, ‘but I’m bound to do that, aren’t I? I don’t know you at all well, you see. I’ve only just realised that you have a quite nasty temper and like your own way. I shall do my best to keep on the right side of you, but occasionally I’m bound to speak my mind.’ She added reasonably: ‘I’m not a doormat.’

  Sarre gave a shout of laughter. ‘My dear girl, thank God you’re not! And you’re quite right; I’ve a bad temper, although I endeavour to keep it within reasonable bounds, and I like my own way, too. Now sit down, do, and pour my coffee and yours.’ He drew up a small velvet-covered armchair for her and pulled up a massive one for himself. ‘And I know very well that you aren’t a doormat. I wouldn’t be marrying you if you were.’

  Alethea lifted the silver coffee pot and poured the coffee into delicate cups. As she handed him a cup she observed: ‘I didn’t know it would be…it’s rather grand.’

  He glanced round him. ‘Is it? I’ve lived here all my life and it’s just home to me—I hope it will be to you.’

  She answered him seriously. ‘It’s very beautiful. I think when I’ve got over my—my awe, I shall like it very much. Will you tell me about Al? How did he get here?’

  Sarre crossed his long legs and stretched out comfortably. ‘He was here ten years ago, chauffeuring his employer; there was an accident and he was badly injured and came into the hospital. His employer wasn’t hurt and returned home, leaving Al behind. He said at the time that he would keep in touch and when Al was fit, see that he got safely back to England. He even promised him his job back, but although we tried to contact him, we never found him, so when Al was more or less fit, I took him on. He has to have osteopathy regularly and he can’t drive a car for any length of time, otherwise he’s pretty fit. He’s most useful around the house.’