The Most Marvelous Summer Read online

  He shot past a busload of people who waved but he didn't notice. He must uproot the girl before she became important to him... He regretted now that he had offered to drive her to his grandfather's house, reflecting with his usual honesty that he had thought the whole thing up in the first place because he had wanted to see more of her. It was true that his grandfather was in need of company but he could have called upon any number of suitable middle-aged ladies to fulfil that office. He could of course take a few days off; a change of scene would help. Perhaps Rhoda would go with him. He viewed the idea with no enthusiasm.

  He had a list that afternoon; he thrust Matilda out of his mind and concentrated upon pinning and plating a shattered leg, a laminectomy for the removal of a spinal tumour and a meniscectomy to relieve a torn cartilage. These done to his satisfaction, he drank the tea Theatre Sister had ready for him, bade her a courteous good day and repaired to the consultant's room where he found an urgent message from his secretary asking him to telephone her.

  There had been a mine disaster in Spitsbergen and he was asked to go there to advise upon several cases which might require his particular skill. He accepted at once and spent the rest of the day making arrangements for his registrar to take over from him, booking a flight for the next day and then telephoning the rectory. Mrs ffinch answered.

  `You want to fetch Matilda in the morning? Of course that's all right-she's out at the moment but she's quite ready to leave. I'll tell her-ten o' clock? She'll be waiting.'

  Mr Scott-Thurlow put the phone down with a sigh; circumstances, unhappy for some, had dealt with his problem very nicely. He whistled the dogs, and with Theobald under one arm for he was still something of an invalid-he walked to Regent's Park, which he strode from end to end and then back again, much to the dogs' delight. Despite the exercise he had little appetite for the excellent dinner Twigg, his man, served to him.

  A circumstance which made that faithful servant observe to his wife, `It's not like him, Mavis, not like him at all. Something's up and it's nothing to do with going to Spitsbergen; he's always off here, there and everywhere and never turns a hair.'

  `That Miss Symes?' suggested Mrs Twigg, who didn't like her.

  He shook his bald head. `Can't be-he was on the phone to her, saying he couldn't go to some concert or other with her, quite affable too.'

  Matilda was quite ready when he arrived at the rectory the next morning. She had dressed carefully in a wide flowery skirt and a plain cotton blouse with a matching cardigan, and she had taken great pains with her hair and face. Mr Scott-Thurlow took one look at her and then wished her a coolly detached good morning. She supposed that he had had a busy time of it since she had seen him last, and at the thoughtt blushed. She hadn't expected him to refuse the coffee her mother had ready. Pressure of work, he explained pleasantly, and ushered her out to the car without loss of time.

  There was no need to go into Sherborne; country roads skirting round the north of the town took them to Mackrell Cantelo, a small village between the A303 and Yeovil and as remote as Abner Magna. Throughout the short journey Mr Scott-Thurlow had had little to say. Matilda had essayed a few remarks, to be met with pleasantly non-committal replies. She had been looking forward to the trip, longing for it, in fact, but now she felt uneasy; her companion having withdrawn behind a bland face and manner. They were almost there when she hit on the answer. He was letting her see that his interest

  in her was purely superficial; a chance acquaintance who most providentially could fill a needed job. The kiss had been sheer relief on his part well, he need have no fears that she had imagined otherwise. She lapsed into a dignified silence, studying the scenery as though she had never seen it before and smouldering inwardly.

  They swept through Mackrell Cantelo, turned in between stone pillars and drew up before a nice old house, eighteenth century, with stone mullioned windows and a red tiled roof and set in grounds planted with rhododendrons, ornamental trees and shrubs of all kinds and boasting a small lake to one side of the house. Mr Scott-Thurlow stopped before the front door, got out to help Matilda and crossed the gravel sweep with her beside him. He didn't ring the ancient bell-pull beside the door but opened it and without delay walked in. The lobby opened into a large square hall, very pleasant and light with a polished wood floor partly covered by Persian rugs, its walls, panelled in some light wood, hung with paintings and across which hurried a spruce middle-aged man, neatly dressed.

  'Ah, Slocombe, how are you?' Mr Scott-Thurlow turned to Matilda. 'Slocombe runs the house for my grandparents and is a tower of strength. You will find him the greatest help. Slocombe, this is Miss ffinch-you already know that she will keep my grandfather company until my grandmother returns home.'

  Slocombe bowed his head gravely at Matilda, who stepped forwards and offered a hand. 'I'm sure I shall be glad of your advice,' she told him and Mr Scott-Thurlow watched the older man succumb to her friendly smile and green eyes.

  `Your grandfather is waiting for you, Mr James,' said Slocombe and led the way across the hall, into a large room with windows back and front.

  The old gentleman who got up as they went in must have been as big a man as his grandson when he was younger and even now, in his eighties, he was upright and remarkably handsome with a fine head of white hair and the blue eyes his grandson had inherited. Matilda, as usual, allowed her imagination to go to work; in fifty years' time James would look exactly like that, it would be their golden wedding anniversary and they would be surrounded by children and grandchildren... She was suddenly aware that both gentlemen were looking at her, wearing the same half-smile, their eyebrows tilted at exactly the same angle.

  'Matilda, this is my grandfather. I'm sure you will be able to help him pass the time until my grandmother comes home again.'

  Matilda shook hands with the old gentleman-she liked him at once, but of course she would; he was James's grandfather and therefore to be cherished. `I do hope so,' she said and smiled widely.

  `You'll stay for lunch, James?"

  'Regretfully, no. I must be on my way-I've a plane to catch.'

  Matilda had an instant and vivid picture of him boarding Concorde with Rhoda, off to some exotic island.

  'Ah, yes, of course, the mine disaster in Spitsbergen. Several in your line, no doubt.'

  `I fear so.' He shook his grandfather's hand. 'I'll see you when I get back.'

  `Taking Rhoda with you?' asked his grandfather.

  His grandson looked astounded. 'Rhoda to Spitsbergen? I doubt if she knows where it is.'

  `A very beautiful woman,' observed his grandparent. `I wish I could come with you.'

  `So do L' The two men smiled at each other and Mr Scott-Thurlow turned to Matilda, standing so quietly beside them. `Take care of him, Matilda,' he said pleasantly and had gone before she had even nodded her head.

  `Now, my dear, shall we have a drink just to get to know each other? Slocombe will have taken your things upstairs and Mrs Slocombe will take you to your room presently. A pity James couldn't stay, but of course it's quite a longish flight to Spitsbergen.'

  `You said a mine disaster-is that the one I read about in the paper this morning?'

  `Yes, they're well equipped there for accidents and so on, there's an excellent hospital at Ny Alesund, but when there's a disaster of any sort then they need extra help. James has been before of course. A good chap-told me when he was quite a small chap that he would be as good a surgeon as his father, and he is. Bones, of course-it runs in the family.'

  Matilda sipped her sherry. `Your wife...' she began tentatively.

  `Having a prosthesis-hip joint, you know. A colleague of James's did it last week. Normally she would come home but she's an independent woman, doesn't want to be an invalid in her own home, so she will stay at the nursing home until she is fit-three weeks or so, so she tells me.' He added, `I do miss her.'

  'I'm sure you do, but how nice to look forward to having her home again in a week or two with a new hip.'


  `Yes, yes. She's a keen gardener, you know, able to name every flower she's ever grown.' He sighed, `Never got over James's father dying like that. His mother too-a nice little thing she was, and quite devoted.'

  He closed his eyes and was all at once asleep and she sat there quietly, her thoughts with Mr Scott-Thurlow driving himself to the airport, going hundreds of miles at a few hours' notice because he was needed. His grandfather had called him a `good chap', which from that rather austere gentleman was probably high praiseshe thought of him in warmer terms; he was everything she had ever hoped for in a husband, only there was no chance of his being that...

  `Do you play chess, Matilda?'

  Mr Scott-Thurlow senior had opened his very blue eyes and was watching her.

  `Me? Chess? Well, in a manner of speaking I'm really bad at it, so my father says.'

  `Splendid. I shall beat you each evening after dinner. Now tell me all about your family.'

  Which she did until Slocombe came quietly into the room to remind them that lunch would be in half an hour and would Miss ffinch like to go to her room first?

  Matilda was led up the curved staircase by Mrs Slocombe, stout and friendly. Her room was at the side of the house, overlooking the gardens, and was rather charmingly furnished with white-painted bed and dressing-table, an easy chair or two, a pretty little lamp table and carpeted in a soft blue, echoed in the curtains and bedspread. There were flowers and books too and a small bathroom leading from it.

  `Anything you want, my love, just you ask,' said Mrs Slocombe in her soft West Country voice. `There's Alice the housemaid lives in; she'll bring you tea in the morning. Mr Scott-Thurlow eats his breakfast early-eight o'clock sharp. Miss Symes, when she's visited here, has hers in her bed-don't like to rise before ten o'clock or thereabouts.'

  `If it's all right I'd like to come down for breakfast-I'm used to getting up early. That is if Mr Scott-Thurlow won't mind.'

  `B don't hold with lying in bed of a morning, miss. You come down and welcome.'

  She trotted off, leaving Matilda to explore her room, hang out of the window and finally sit down at the dressing-table to tidy her person.

  They both enjoyed lunch; they discussed a variety of subjects, arguing happily and at length until they parted company for the afternoon, he to take a nap in the library, she to explore the house at his invitation.

  `Tea at four o'clock,' he told her. `I enjoy my tea, and if you have nothing better to do you can go through the post for me and deal with anything that needs looking into. And we might have that game of chess...'

  It was that evening, after he had beaten her soundly and declared that he would go to bed that he observed, `James will be in Norway by now."

  'How will he get to Spitsbergen from there?"

  'Well, he will have flown to Oslo and then taken a plane to Tromso, that's in the north, and from there he'll get a light aircraft to Spitsbergen. Or perhaps a helicopter.'

  `It will be late when he gets there.'

  `Or early morning. I dare say there is other stuff being flown out-tools and so on.'

  `He'll be tired,' said Matilda.

  The old man agreed quietly, his eyes suddenly alert, but all he said was, `Well, I'm for bed. Do I see you at breakfast?"

  'If you would like that, yes.'

  `My wife has never been one to languish in bed until all hours. Until she needed to go to hospital we breakfasted together every morning. We will visit her tomorrow. I go each day in the morning. James tells me that you drive. Slocombe will be delighted, for it has upset his morning's routine having to take me there and wait to bring me back.'

  `Is the hospital far away?'

  He mentioned a private hospital on the road to Bath. `Half an hour or so, and it's a good road.'

  Matilda slept soundly, ate a good breakfast in the old gentleman's company and then, a little nervously, got behind the wheel of the Daimler Slocombe had brought to the door, but she soon forgot to be nervous-the car ran like a dream and the roads were quiet. At the hospital Mr Scott-Thurlow broke the silence. `Very nice, my dear. My dear wife does not drive, but of course all young women should do so nowadays-shopping, children to school. You will find it useful when you marry.'

  Matilda said bleakly, `I don't expect to marry...'

  `But you will.' He smiled at her and looked exactly like his grandson, so that her heart lurched.

  Mrs Scott-Thurlow was sitting in a pleasant room full of flowers. Her husband kissed her tenderly, told her that she looked beautiful and introduced Matilda.

  'Ah, yes,' said Mrs Scott-Thurlow, `James was quite right.' She smiled brilliantly. `He told me that you were beautiful too. My grandson, you know.' She nodded her head so that the silvery hair danced around her pretty elderly face. `He seldom notices women. It's time he took his nose out of that hospital and looked around him...'

  `I fancy he has done so,' observed her husband and Matilda, turning the knife in the wound, said brightly, `His fiancee is very beautiful; I met her once.'

  'Ah, yes-you were in London, were you not`? Did you enjoy your stay there?"

  'Well, it was most interesting,' began Matilda carefully, `but I'd rather live in the country.'

  A nurse brought a tray of coffee and presently Matilda sauntered out, having said that she would like to look at the garden if no one minded, leaving the two old people together.

  They were a delightful pair and they were fond of their grandson, but she suspected that they shared a life which they had made their own. For a small boy who had just lost his parents that had been a barrier, and he had sensed it and never overcome it although he must have come to terms with it now that he was a man with a well-established life of his own.

  `But no roots,' said Matilda, talking to herself, and since there was no one else to talk to she added, `He needs a home and a wife and a clutch of children to warm him and that Rhoda will never do that. He'll get more and more remote because she won't expect him to be anything else, and the children, if they have any, will see him for a few minutes each day and he won't know how to talk to them, just as his grandparents didn't know how to talk to him.' She plucked a weedd with a good deal of unnecessary force. `Something must be done.'

  The choice wasn't great; even if she had been an unscrupulous girl it would have been difficult to divert Mr Scott-Thurlow's affections from Rhoda, who was beautiful, amusing and shared his background. Matilda, aware that she was very pretty was none the less not conceited about it-besides, he had demonstrated clearly enough that he had absolutely no interest in her. Here she paused to mull over the kiss he had given her. It had been done on the spur of the moment; probably he had been thankful that she had agreed to stay with his grandfather... She dismissed the occurrence, although she would have like to linger over it, and returned to the vexed question of Rhoda. Perhaps if she got to know her? Persuaded her that James needed to be loved and teased a little and even annoyed a bit from time to time, made aware ol' the fact that there was a good life outside his working world? In ten years' time, thought Matilda unhappily, he would be so wrapped up in his world of surgery that he might just as well not have married.

  She started to wander back, deep in thought. Why on earth had he decided to marry the girl? Rhoda liked a social life and, granted, she would be a splendid hostess and no doubt run his house admirably-would she like waiting up if he got called out in the evening, or getting his slippers when he got home or making sure that he had enough to eat? It would be easier rf she knew more about his personal life-and Rhoda's too.

  `I am an interfering busybody,' said Matilda softly to herself, `and I want him for me not her, but I can't have him so I'd better try and help.'

  A depressing thought struck her; perhaps he liked Rhoda like that, cool and undemonstrative and slightly bored-at least she had appeared so to Matilda, but who knew what she was like when she was alone with James? It was a sobering thought; perhaps she would do well to hold her tongue and forget him, but she would have to wait un
til Mrs Scott-Thurlow was back home again and she could go home herself and wipe him clean out of her mind.

  Mr Scott-Thurlow was ready to leave. Mrs Scott-Thurlow gave her a kind smile. `I feel so much easier in my mind now that you are at home, my dear. The Slocombes are old servants and friends but it is company my husband needs. Do let me know the moment you hear from James.'

  He telephoned that evening. Matilda happened to be by the phone in the sitting-room when it rang and Mr Scott-Thurlow, unable to get out of his chair with any kind of speed, asked her to answer it.

  She said, `Yes?' in a wispy voice, sure that it was James. It was; his voice, very clear from all those miles away, sent her heart racing.

  'Matilda? I should like to speak to my grandfather...'