Busman's Holiday, page 2
Psmith and his hackles leapt up together. I held his collar as we moved to the edge and peered over. Instantly, my heart felt too big for my chest and my vision misted. I had to remind myself that had not been Bart’s quick, soft voice, before I dared blink my eyes clear.
The dark-haired man languidly flicking one sleeve of his elegant blue cord jacket was not Bart, but at that glimpse he could have been his brother. Though his hair was darker, it grew in the same cowlick over his forehead; he had the same length hair and sideboards; the same good-humoured face; the same long, slim build. His impeccably tailored grey whipcords and charcoal roll-neck could have come from Bart’s wardrobe. And the way he was now watching me took me straight back to my first meeting with Bart at someone’s sister’s party. ‘Good afternoon!’ He called, smiling. ‘Lovely day, when it’s not raining mice.’
I had to force myself to answer civilly. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was there. Our dog killed it.’
‘Hence the girlish scream! So bad for my vibrations! Sorry ‒’ he yawned ‘the sun ‒’ he stepped back for a better view. ‘Having some problem up there? Want any help?’ He looked around. ‘A ladder handy?’
‘No.’ I didn’t explain everything had gone in the van, or that he could easily reach the roof via the apple tree. I couldn’t see him ‒ or Bart ‒ risking that sartorial elegance tree climbing ‒ which was one break. I guessed he was connected with the new tenants as Psmith didn’t recognise him. I had never seen him before. If I had, I’d have remembered. ‘I’ll manage, thanks. Did you want to see my aunt, Miss Allendale? She’ll be back, shortly ‒ or can I take a message?’
‘Thank you, but if possible, I would like to see her.’ He studied me beneath a hand flattened against the sun and I was suddenly acutely conscious of the inevitable dust my hair, face, shirt and jeans had collected all day. ‘Which niece are you? Nicola? or Frances?’
Momentarily, curiosity overcame antipathy. ‘Frances. You ‒ you’re a friend of my aunt?’ I didn’t hide my incredulity, since I could no more see my shy, sincere, totally untrendy aunt including amongst her friends such an ultra-trendy, smoothly sophisticated young-man-about-London-town, than, to be fair, the other way round.
At least his smile was his own. Whatever Bart was, he wasn’t affected. ‘I hope so. David Loftus. How do you do, Frances?’
Obviously, I decided, connected with the new people, who might well have heard of Nicky and myself from Aunt Joey. ‘Hi.’ I was curt, as long before Bart, and since, I had detested affected young men. ‘Excuse me, I’m very busy.’
‘How admirable, if exhausting.’ He stifled another yawn. ‘You’re sure I can’t help?’
I refrained from retorting that he appeared to need all his own energy to keep awake. ‘Quite. Thanks.’
‘You don’t mind if I wait for Miss Allendale?’
‘No.’ What else could I say?
He raised a weary but disturbingly graceful hand in thanks, backed further, stretched out on the grass under the pear tree, linked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. I bit my lower lip. He even moved with Bart’s natural grace.
‘Come on, Psmith,’ I muttered urgently. ‘Let’s get away from here.’
But Psmith was enjoying the sun. He relaxed on the warm roof, and ignored all my attempts at coaxing him into using my crouched back as a mounting block to the window. He had long been too heavy for me to lift even a few inches alone, but I had used this ploy successfully before and normally he enjoyed the game.
‘Duckie,’ I pleaded, ‘do co-operate! I’ll never finish the cleaning before Aunt Joey gets back and she’s done so much today ‒’
‘Take it easy, honey! Here comes the US Cavalry!’
That drawling and superbly mimicked US accent came from the garage roof and from anyone else ‒ but Bart ‒ would have made me smile. I spun round, grabbing Psmith’s collar unnecessarily and ostentatiously. Psmith was a goodish watchdog being so solid, his surprised growls and raised hackles made him seem fierce, but beneath, he was ready to make friends with the whole human race. ‘Wait, please! My dog doesn’t know you.’
David Loftus stopped a few feet from us and brushed an apple leaf off his shoulders. He was taller and thinner than Bart, he had more brow, less regular features and a much more pronounced jaw. His eyes were dark blue, not hazel, but seeing him closer, their expression made me freeze up. I could hear Bart’s voice, ‘I saw you and thought ‒ I like the look of her. Wonder what she thinks of me?’
The answer must have been in my eyes. His face tightened, though his lips kept on smiling. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Psmith with a P wouldn’t know me, as we’ve never met. But as I knew and loved his much lamented late mama, Black Bess, perhaps just this once he’ll refrain from tearing me limb from limb as you’re hoping ‒ do forgive me, of course, I meant fearing ‒ though were he an absolute chip off the old block, your worst fears might well be justified. Passionately as I loved Bessie, I can’t deny that in her off moments as a pup she made Attila the Hun seem soft-centred.’
This shook me in another way. I barely remembered old Bessie, but Aunt Joey’s transformation of a wild puppy into the gentle, affectionate creature Bessie became, was local folklore. ‘You ‒ you knew Bessie as a pup.’
He nodded. ‘Does that give me security clearance? Or should you see my passport?’ The new mocking light in his eyes was echoed in his tone. ‘How about my driving licence?’
‘Of course, I shouldn’t ‒’
‘How wise,’ he drawled, ‘to avoid the disappointment of discovering I’m singularly harmless if ‒ do excuse me ‒’ he stifled yet another yawn, ‘I’m having this trifle difficulty in staying awake. The sun always does this to me. Directly I get out in it, I just have to relax and reach for the nearest lotus. You enjoy lotus-eating?’ I just shook my head. ‘Pity. You don’t know what you’re missing. I’ve a natural talent for the job. Maybe I should take it up as a career. How would it look on my passport?’ He mused. ‘Occupation ‒ lotus-eater.’
I just shrugged. If he could afford to laze around talking nonsense on a Monday afternoon, I couldn’t. And having seen too many doctors his age working too hard for too long in my training hospital, his real, or assumed work-shy attitude didn’t amuse me.
Again he read my thoughts. This time, with amusement. ‘Dear me, you are disapproving! One wonders why?’
‘Don’t let it bother you.’
‘Then I won’t.’ He came closer. Foolishly, but quite instinctively, I backed slightly. I thought he hadn’t noticed, till he glanced up as he patted the now warmly welcoming Psmith. ‘His instincts tell him I’m a chum. But then aren’t instincts reputed to be far more reliable guides than emotions?’ Gently, easily, he lifted Psmith in his arms. ‘No, lad, don’t chew my ear off, I may need it. In you go ‒ easy does it.’ He waited till Psmith had plopped down from the dormer sill into the sewing room, then linked his hands as a footrest for me. ‘Allow me?’
‘No need, thanks. I’ve done this dozens of times.’ I had. It was so easy ‒ unless one was hollow with remembered misery and acutely self-conscious of being closely watched by a pair of sardonic dark blue eyes. I grabbed the window with both hands for the necessary heave up before diving in and my left hand slipped off. I slipped with it, but as the edge of the roof was roughly ten feet away, had I been alone it was unlikely that I would have slipped right off. Not being alone, and as I only realised later, David Loftus’s instant reaction was only that of any sensible adult in the circumstances. His protective arm encircled me firmly to rule out any question of my losing my balance again and slipping over the edge. Being too strung-up for common sense, I used both arms to push away his one so roughly that my left hand flew out behind me and caught him in the face.
‘Honey, honey,’ he drawled, ‘keep your cool, if you please! That wasn’t intended as a pass, but since you’ve decided to take it as such and react accordingly and we all know about the sheep and the lamb ‒’ Before I realised what was happening, he lifted me as he had Psmith, and in languid arms that seemed made of iron. I had been genuinely appalled by my rash gesture and about to apologise, but this took my breath away. I had just time to think wildly ‒ he won’t dare kiss me ‒ when he did, lightly, on my lips. Then he eased me feet first through the dormer window. ‘Quits?’ he called after me.
I needed a long steadying breath before facing him through the window. ‘I ‒ I didn’t mean ‒ that is ‒ I don’t go round slapping men’s faces!’
‘Quite right. Most uncivilised behaviour. So why clout me?’
‘It was an accident ‒’
He popped an elbow on the window-sill and his chin on his palm. ‘Going to apologise?’
‘Me?’ I lifted my chin. ‘Now?’
‘As good a time as any. Or do you imagine I enjoy being clouted by a girl I’m only trying to help? If you do, you are so mistaken. You do that again,’ his eyes glinted but whether with laughter or anger, I couldn’t tell ‘and next time instead of a kiss, you may get a clout back.’
‘Thanks, but I’d prefer a clout!’
He coloured slightly. ‘I’ll remember that, next time.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I retorted, ‘there won’t be one!’ To my great relief Psmith barked below. ‘Here’s my aunt ‒’ I raced from the sewing room to the hall and used Psmith’s mouse to explain my breathless state. ‘You’ve a visitor of sorts, Aunty, he says his name is David Loftus and he’s a friend of yours ‒’ my voice faded away as he appeared in the open front door.
‘Remember me, Miss Allendale?’ I hated to admit it, but his smile now was delightful. ‘Been a few years.’
‘Davie! Davie Loftus!’ Aunt Joey held out both hands. ‘Is it really you? I can’t believe it!’
He took her hands. ‘Like Topsy, I just growed, but in twenty-three years you haven’t aged one day! What’s your secret of eternal youth? Do tell!’
Aunt Joey blushed, but instead of retreating behind the quiet, shy shell she usually exhibited to all but her family and children, she laughed as if he were Nicky or myself. ‘My dear Davie, that’s nonsense, but such gallant nonsense that I’ll forgive you and you must forgive the “Davie”, please! I must address you as ‒’
‘Davie, or I’ll never forgive you! Being the only child of only children, now my parents are gone, only you use my old name. How I’ve enjoyed seeing it in your letters and those letters! The highlights of many a Christmas and birthday, but having a November birthday ‒ what’s all this new news I’ve only just heard?’
‘I’ll tell you directly, but first, let me introduce you. Fran you’ve met ‒ and this is Nicky ‒’
‘Hi, David!’ Nicky’s wide eyes registered the approval echoed in his as they shook hands. I invented a running tap and fled for the kitchen as Aunt Joey explained that the Loftuses had once rented the Somers’ cottage for two years ‘… Davie was nine when Mr. Loftus’s firm moved him back to London …’ Thirty-two but looks younger, I decided grimly, being so immature and irresponsible!
I stalked out of the back door to check the bonfire.
Nicky joined me. ‘Could you get the car out of the garage, then I can sweep round in there. I daren’t risk backing it myself being such a grotty L-driver and as it’s so vital for our long drive tomorrow.’
‘Sure.’ But I hesitated. ‘Where’re the others?’
‘Pottering round catching up on the bits they left out of their letters. Some dish, eh?’
I shrugged. ‘Don’t fancy him.’
She chuckled. ‘I do! What’s his job?’
‘According to him, lotus-eater.’
‘Must pay well! His car’s behind our front hedge. A dolly white job and brand new!’ As we went round to the garage she glanced at the two figures across the lawn. ‘Wonder if he’s married?’
‘Probably.’ We got into the car. I tested the gear was in neutral and as she had been talking Charles all week, added, ‘what about your faithful Charles?’
‘Fran! I’ve told you, I adore Charles, but he will keep asking me to marry him and I’m not marrying anyone till I’m at least thirty and have had time to teach for years! We’ve both agreed that as we’re ag’in long engagements we must make other dates. I do, in college and Charles knows all about ’em!’
‘Does Charles date other birds?’
‘He says if he can’t date me he’d rather work.’ She sighed. ‘He’s sweet, bother him!’
I smiled. Privately, Aunt Joey and I had agreed we liked the sound of Nicky’s Charles Elseworth. Still smiling I glanced back to check all was clear before reversing. Aunt Joey and David were now only a few feet from the left of the garage door. He caught my smile and had the nerve to return it with a broad grin. ‘All clear this side, Frances!’ he called.
Thanks very much, I said to myself, but I can do without your help, man! Then I had to stall the engine twice. The third time it purred smoothly, but I had to make another backward check and see that ‘woman driver ‒ what can you expect?’ smile on David’s face. I’ll show him! I decided rashly and unpardonably. I revved too high and took my foot off the clutch too fast. The car shot back and hit the left side of the door with a sickening clash of metal and breaking glass.
I could have wept. Aunt Joey and Nicky were so sweet. ‘You mustn’t worry, Fran dear! I could so easily have done it myself. I’ll ring the village garage. If they’re working late, they’ll probably come out and fix it tonight.’ Aunt Joey was determinedly cheerful.
Nicky, also. ‘Won’t take long to put in a new glass and bulb in that rear light.’
We were all examining the damage. I had to say, ‘I’m afraid it’s rather more than that.’
‘Yes.’ David straightened. ‘This wheel’s out of true. It’ll have to come off and be hammered straight ‒ and I’m afraid the exhaust has buckled.’
Nicky asked reluctantly, ‘How long’ll that take to repair, David?’
He hesitated. ‘It’ll have to go along to a garage. If the one in the village can start on it first thing tomorrow and has the spares, maybe two or three hours.’ He looked at Aunt Joey. ‘Does your local garage keep many spares?’
She shook her head. ‘They haven’t the storage space, so send into Ulvercastle for them.’ Ulvercastle was the big industrial town sixteen miles off. ‘That can take a day or so. You think this may take that?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but to be honest, yes.’
There was a brief, deafening, silence. Tomorrow’s drive had been planned more for economy than convenience. Now the rail fares, necessary taxis at each end, the new garage bill and the rail ticket to collect the car when ready, would stretch Aunt Joey’s limited budget to the seams. Postponing our departure would solve nothing, as her furniture was being delivered in Arumchester on the day after tomorrow. If it had to be put in, then taken out of store, it would mean more expense.
I said unhappily, ‘Aunt Joey, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Dearie, it was an accident! Not your fault!’
Nicky said, ‘We’ll just have to have one of Charles’s beloved agonising reappraisals.’
‘Would this be too agonising?’ David addressed himself to Aunt Joey. ‘As you now know, I’m driving back to Arumchester tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of room for you three, Psmith ‒’ he smiled at the row of pot plants ‘and the greenhouse. If you can do without your car until I return here this weekend, I’ll fly up as today and instead of taking delivery of my own car, I’ll collect yours and drive it down. No problem at the Arumchester end, seeing we’ll be neighbours across the square.’
‘Neighbours?’ exclaimed Nicky before Aunt Joey could get in a word, or me my mental breath. ‘You live in Arumchester, David?’
‘Yes. Moved there six months ago during Mr. Thornton’s terminal illness. I never knew him, and only very recently discovered the Miss Allendale who had inherited his house, was my Miss Allendale ‒ one reason why I’m here now. Well, Miss Allendale? May I have the pleasure of driving you to your new home?’
Aunt Joey was visibly moved. ‘This is so kind, but too much to ask ‒’
He said very softly, ‘After what you did for my Bessie?’
‘Bessie?’ echoed Nicky. ‘Was she yours?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You were the little boy who pulled her out of the river after some fiend had tied a stone round her neck and left her to drown!’
‘I never knew that!’
They all looked at me. Aunt Joey said, ‘I never told you, dear, as you took things so to heart when you were little. The mere mention of cruelty to an animal, and you were in tears.’
I couldn’t deny this. ‘That’s why Bessie was so wild as a puppy? She’d been ill-treated?’
‘Until Davie rescued her and gave her the love she needed. She began trusting one small boy and eventually trusted the world.’
David said, ‘Thanks to you, Miss Allendale.’ He paused slightly. ‘May I underline that tomorrow?’
As Nicky remarked later, that clinched it.
He was spending the night with friends in the neighbourhood, and as they were expecting him shortly, and he wanted some idea of the size and number of our suitcases and picnic bags, we went back into the front hall. The telephone was now on the hall floor. It had not been disconnected at the new tenants’ request and had been ringing all day by friends wishing Aunt Joey goodbye and good luck. It rang again as he was fixing the time we wanted to leave tomorrow. Nicky being nearest, answered it. ‘Sorry ‒ I can’t hear you very well ‒ the line’s crackling ‒ Miss Allendale? Yes, but I expect I’m the wrong one ‒ don’t you want my aunt, Miss Joanna Allendale?’ Aunt Joey moved nearer the ’phone and David towards the open door as Nicky listened to the caller’s voice. ‘Hold on, please.’ She covered the receiver. ‘Not for you, Aunty, for David. A Miss Susan Frampton, from Holly Mill, would like to speak to Dr. Loftus about some little girl called Janice Riding.’
‘Janice?’
Before I was over the shock of that ‘Dr.’ I had another. David’s languid manner dropped off like an old coat as he queried the name and quickly took the receiver. ‘Sorry about this, Miss Allendale ‒ Sue? Dave,’ he announced briskly into the ’phone. ‘What’s up with our Janice, love?’
