Love Can Wait Page 8

  Kate had reckoned without Mr Tait-Bouverie, who took his aunt out for a drive that morning, gave her coffee at a charming little restaurant and drove to the top of Mount Aksla so that she might enjoy the view over Alesund.

  ‘You’re playing bridge this afternoon?’ he wanted to know. ‘Supposing I take Kate for a short drive? I want to visit a rather lovely old church, and she might as well come with me.’ He added cunningly, ‘It is very good of you to allow her to have the afternoons free. She seems to have explored the town very thoroughly.’

  Lady Cowder smiled complacently. ‘Yes, she may do as she likes between two and five o’clock each day and, heaven knows, I am the easiest mistress any servant could wish for. Take her with you by all means; this holiday must be an education to her.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie swallowed a laugh. His aunt had had a sketchy education—governesses, a year in Switzerland—and had never made any attempt to improve upon it. Whereas he knew from what Kate’s mother had told him during one of his seemingly casual conversations, that Kate had several A levels and would have gone on to a university if her father hadn’t wanted her at home to help research his book.

  ‘Just so,’ he said mildly, and drove his aunt back to the hotel.

  Kate, brushing and hanging away Lady Cowder’s many clothes, was quite startled when that lady came into her room.

  ‘I have had a delightful morning,’ she announced. ‘And I have a treat in store for you, Kate. Mr Tait-Bouverie has offered to take you for a drive this afternoon. I must say it is most kind of him, and I hope you will be suitably grateful both to him and to me. Now go and have your lunch and come back here in case I need anything before I go to lunch myself.’

  Kate skipped down to the restaurant, gobbled her food and hurried to her room. She wondered what Mr Tait-Bouverie had said to make Lady Cowder so amenable. Perhaps she could ask him; on the other hand, perhaps not. He was making a generous gesture and probably wasn’t looking forward to the whole afternoon in her company. What on earth would they talk about for three hours?

  She got into the jersey dress she hadn’t yet worn. It was by no means new, but it fitted her and the colour was a warm mushroom—it toned down her bright hair nicely. Her shoulderbag and shoes had seen better days, too, but they were good leather and she had taken care of them. She went downstairs, wondering if Mr Tait-Bouverie had left a message for her at the desk. She had told him that she was usually free soon after two o’clock, but now that she saw the time she saw that she was much too early. It would never do to look too eager. She turned round and started back up the stairs.

  ‘Cold feet, Kate?’ asked Mr Tait-Bouverie, appearing beside her, apparently through the floor. ‘I’m ready if you are.’

  She paused in mid-flight. ‘Oh, well, yes. I’m quite ready, only I’m too early.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting for the last ten minutes,’ he told her placidly. ‘It’s a splendid day; let us cram as much into it as we can.’

  Kate was willing enough. She was led outside to where his hired Volvo stood, ushered into it, and, without more ado, they set off.

  ‘Giske first,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie, driving away from the town and presently entering a tunnel. ‘I hope you don’t mind the dark? This goes on for some time—more than a couple of miles—but it is used very frequently, as you can see, and is well maintained. Giske is rather a charming island—it’s called the Saga island, too. We’ll go and see that church, and then drive over to Godoy and have tea at Alnes. It’s quite a small village but there’s a ferry, of course, and in the summer there are tourists…’

  His placid voice, uttering commonplace information, put her quite at her ease. She wasn’t sure if she liked the tunnel very much—driving through the mountain with all that grey rock and presently, as he pointed out to her, under the fiord—but he was right about Giske. It was peaceful and green, even with the mountains towering all round it. There were few cars, the sun shone and the air was clear and fresh.

  Kate took a deep breath and said, ‘This is nice.’

  The little church delighted her, so very small and so perfect, with ancient murals on its walls and high-backed pews. It was quiet and peaceful, too; she could imagine that the peace went back hundreds of years. Mr Tait-Bouverie didn’t say much but wandered round with her, and when she had had her fill he took her outside to the little churchyard with its gravestones bright with flowers.

  ‘It’s something I’ll remember,’ said Kate, getting back into the car.

  They drove on to Godoy then, through small villages, their houses beautifully kept. And when they reached Alnes they had tea at the small hotel opposite the ferry. By now Kate had forgotten to be wary and become completely at ease.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie watched her lovely face and was well content, taking care not to dispel that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATE, making a splendid tea, was happy to have someone to talk to, to answer her questions, who was apparently as happy as she was. After a couple of weeks of no conversation—for Lady Cowder only gave orders or made observations—it was delightful to say what she thought without having to make sure that it was suitable first, and, strangely enough, she found that she could talk to Mr Tait-Bouverie.

  ‘We should be going,’ he told her presently. ‘A pity, for it is such a pleasant day.’ He smiled at her across the table. ‘There’s another very long tunnel ahead.’

  ‘Longer than the other one?’

  ‘Yes. But there’s plenty of time; we are quite near to Alesund.’

  ‘It’s been a lovely afternoon,’ said Kate, getting into the car, wishing the day would never end. In a little over an hour she would be getting into the brown crêpe dress, ready to eat her solitary dinner. She frowned, despising herself for allowing self-pity to spoil the day. Besides, there was still the drive back…

  The tunnel took her by surprise; one moment they were tooling along a narrow road edged with thick shrubs, giving way to trees as they climbed the mountain beyond, the next they were driving smoothly between grey rock. True, the tunnel was lighted, and there was a stream of traffic speeding past them, but, all the same, she caught herself wondering how many minutes it would be before they came out into daylight again.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie said soothingly, ‘It takes less than five minutes, although it seems longer.’ He added, ‘You don’t like it very much, do you? I should have asked you about that before we left the hotel. There are any number of other places to visit.’

  ‘No, oh, no, I’ve loved every minute—and really, now we are in the tunnel, I truly don’t mind. I wouldn’t like to drive through it alone, though.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re honest, Kate. Even if you don’t exactly enjoy it, it’s something you will remember.’ He glanced at the dashboard. ‘We’re exactly halfway.’

  The sudden sickening noise ahead of them seemed to reverberate over and over again through the tunnel—a grinding, long drawn-out noise accompanied by shouts and screams. And the lights went out.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie brought the car to a smooth halt inches from the car ahead of him as other cars passed him, unable to slow their pace quickly enough, colliding inevitably. He could have said the obvious; instead he observed calmly, ‘A pity about the lights,’ and reached for the phone beside his seat.

  Kate, who hadn’t uttered a sound, said now in a voice which shook only very slightly, ‘I expect someone will come quickly,’ and thought what a silly remark that was. ‘Were you phoning for help? You were speaking Norwegian?’

  ‘Yes, and yes. Now, Kate, perhaps we can make ourselves useful. I’m sure everyone with a phone has warned Alesund, but the more helpers there are the better. Come along!’

  He reached behind him and took his bag from the back seat. ‘How lucky that I’ve my bag with me. I don’t care to leave it at the hotel. Stay where you are; I’ll come round and open your door, then follow me and do as I say. You’re not squeamish, are you?’

  It didn’t look as though she would be given th
e chance to be that. She said meekly, ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good; come along, then.’

  They didn’t have far to go—a van had gone out of control and slewed sideways so that the car behind it had crashed into it, turned over and been pushed by another car against the wall, presumably with such force that the lighting cables had been damaged.

  There were a great many people milling around, some of them already hauling people from damaged cars. Mr Tait-Bouverie, holding Kate fast by the hand, spoke to a man kneeling beside a woman whose leg was trapped under the wheel of a car.

  ‘I’m a doctor; can I help?’

  He had spoken in Norwegian and the man answered him in the same language, shining his torch on Mr Tait-Bouverie and then on Kate. ‘English, aren’t you? God knows how many there are trapped and hurt. I’ve told people to go back to their cars. There is a nurse somewhere, and several men giving a hand.’ He glanced at Kate again. ‘The young lady?’

  ‘Not a nurse, but capable. She will do anything she is asked to do.’

  ‘Good. Can she help the nurse? Over there with those two children? This young woman—if you could look at her? Tell us what to do—most of us have some knowledge of first aid….’

  ‘Off you go,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie to Kate. ‘I’ll find you later.’

  I must remember, thought Kate rather wildly, picking her way towards the nurse, to tell him that he is a rude and arrogant man.

  Then she didn’t think about him again; there was too much to do.

  The nurse, thank heavens, spoke excellent English. Kate tied slings, bandaged cuts and held broken arms and legs while the nurse applied splints made of umbrellas, walking sticks and some useful lengths of wood someone had in their boot.

  She was aware of Mr Tait-Bouverie from time to time, going to and fro and once coming to kneel beside her to find and tie a severed artery. The nurse had told her to apply pressure with her fingers while she fetched the doctor and Kate knelt, feeling sick as blood oozed out despite her efforts. Mr Tait-Bouverie didn’t speak until he had controlled the bleeding. ‘Bandage it tightly with anything you can find.’

  He had gone again. Kate, feeling queasy, took the clean handkerchief she saw in the patient’s pocket and did the best she could.

  It seemed like hours before she heard the first sounds of help arriving. It had only been minutes—minutes she never wished to live through again. Even though help was on the way it took time to manoeuvre the cars out of the way so that the ambulances and the fire engines could get through. Everyone was quiet now, doing as they were told, backing out of the tunnel whenever it was possible, making more room.

  She was suddenly aware that there was a man crouching beside the old lady she was trying to make comfortable.

  ‘You are a nurse?’ he asked in English.

  ‘No. Just helping. I’m with a doctor—a surgeon, actually. Mr Tait-Bouverie.’

  ‘Old James? Splendid. He’s around?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but began to question the old lady. He looked up presently. ‘Concussion and a broken arm. She’s worried about her handbag. She was thrown out of her car…’

  ‘Which car? I’ll look for it.’

  It was an elderly Volvo, its door twisted, its body-work ruined. Kate climbed in gingerly and it creaked under her weight. The bag was on the floor, its contents spilled. She collected everything she could see and began to edge out backwards.

  ‘There you are,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie. He sounded amused. ‘Even if you are back to front, I’m glad to see that you’re none the worse for all this.’

  He stopped and lifted her neatly the right way up, out of the car.

  Kate said coldly, ‘Thank you, Mr Tait-Bouverie. There was no need of your help.’

  ‘No, I know, but the temptation was too strong.’ He looked her over. ‘You look rather the worse for wear.’

  She started back to the old lady. ‘Well, I am the worse for wear,’ she told him tartly, and thought vexedly that he looked quite undisturbed—his jacket over his arm, his shirt-sleeves rolled up. His tie was gone—used for something or other, she supposed. He still looked elegant.

  Kate, conscious that her hair was coming down, her hands were filthy and scratched and her dress stained and torn, turned her back on him.

  He was there, beside her, exchanging greetings with the Norwegian doctor while she handed over the handbag and listened to the old lady’s thanks.

  ‘You’re off now?’

  ‘Yes. I must take this young lady back to my aunt.’

  ‘Come to dinner while you’re there. We’d love to see you again. How long are you here? Oslo, I suppose, and Bergen and Tromsö?’

  ‘Tromsö tomorrow,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie, ‘and back to England four days later.’

  Kate had heard that, and was conscious of an unpleasant sensation under her ribs. Indigestion, she told herself, and shook hands politely when Mr Tait-Bouverie introduced her.

  ‘This is not a social occasion, I am afraid, but I am delighted to meet you—may I call you Kate? Perhaps next time you come to Norway… Ah, here are the ambulance men.’ He smiled goodbye, and turned his attention to his patient.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie took Kate’s hand. ‘A hot bath and a quiet evening,’ he observed as they made their way through the throng. Kate didn’t reply. She would be lucky if she had time for a quick shower; Lady Cowder wasn’t going to be pleased at having been kept waiting for more than an hour…

  It took some manoeuvring to get out of the tunnel; cars were being backed, a way was being cleared by the police. It was all very orderly, even if it took some time. The road, when they at last reached it, had been closed to all but traffic leaving the tunnel.

  ‘It’s all very efficiently organised,’ said Kate.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie glanced sideways at her. Her beautiful face was dirty and her hair, by now, a hopeless russet tangle hanging down her back. He gave a sigh and kept his eyes on the road.

  He had been in love several times, just as any normal man would be, but never once had he considered marriage. He had assumed that at sometime, somewhere, he would meet the girl he wanted for his wife, and in the meantime he immersed himself in his work, happy to wait. Now he had found her and he didn’t want to wait. He would have to, of course. He wasn’t sure if she liked him—certainly she wasn’t in love with him—and circumstances weren’t going to make the prospect of that any easier. Circumstances, however, could be altered…

  They talked about the accident presently. ‘It is a miracle that it didn’t turn into a major disaster…’

  ‘You mean if fire had broken out or there had been panic? Everyone was calm. Well, nearly everyone.’ Kate added honestly, ‘I would have liked to have screamed, just once and very loudly, only I didn’t dare.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She looked away from him out of the window. ‘You wouldn’t have liked that—I mean, you knew you would go and help. I dare say you would have left me in the car to scream all I wanted to, but you had enough on your plate.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have left you alone, Kate. To be truthful, I rather took it for granted that you would help, too, in your calm and sensible way.’

  Kate fought a wish to tell him that she had felt neither of these things—that sheer fright had stricken her dumb. She had felt neither calm nor sensible, only terrified. Although she had to admit to herself that having him there, quiet and assured, knowing exactly what to do, had given her a feeling of safety. Strange to feel so safe and sure with him…

  Soon they reached the hotel, and he got out and opened her door and walked with her into the foyer. There were a lot of people there, gathered to hear news of the accident, and they stared and then crowded round them, anxious for details.

  ‘You were there?’ someone asked. ‘We felt sure that you were. The young lady…?’

  ‘Is perfectly all right’, said Mr Tait-Bouverie placidly. ‘But she does need a bath and a rest.’

  He took her to the desk and th
e three receptionists there hurried to him.

  ‘Miss Crosby needs a bath, a change of clothing and a rest. I’m sure she’d like a tray of tea before anything else.’ He looked at Kate. ‘What is your room number? There is a bathroom?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she mumbled awkwardly. ‘But the shower’s fine. I’m perfectly all right.’

  ‘Of course you are, but you will do what I say. Doctor’s orders.’

  He turned back to the desk. ‘Will you send a chambermaid with Miss Crosby to fetch a change of clothes from her room, and then go with her to my room so that she may have a most essential warm bath? Perhaps she will let me know if Miss Crosby is bruised or scratched and I’ll deal with that later. She is to stay with her, and I think that she might have dinner there. In the meantime let me have another room, will you?’

  He said to Kate in what she could only call a doctor’s voice, ‘While you are finding something to wear I’ll get what I need from my room. And here is the chambermaid. Go with her, and after your dinner go back to your room and go to bed.’

  Kate found her voice. ‘Lady Cowder…?’

  ‘Leave her to me.’ He smiled then, and she found herself smiling back and wanting to cry. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’

  She lay in the warm bath and snivelled. She didn’t know why; she hadn’t been hurt, only scratched and bruised, and was tired from the heaving and shoving and lifting she had done. But it was nice to have a good cry, and the chambermaid was a kindly soul who found plasters to put on her small cuts and grazes and presently saw her onto the bed and urged her to have a nice nap.

  Which, surprisingly, she did, to wake feeling quite herself again and to eat with a splendid appetite the dinner that the good soul brought to the room.

  Kate had half expected to have a visit from Lady Cowder—or at least a message—but there was nothing. She ate her dinner and, still accompanied by the chambermaid, went back to her own room. In a little while she went to bed. It was a pity that Mr Tait-Bouverie was going to Tromsö tomorrow; she would have liked to thank him properly for his kindness. She spared a sleepy moment to wonder what he was doing…