Busman's Holiday, page 9
‘Yep. Helen’s lived with him since she got back from the States two months ago.’
That latest surprise momentarily deflected my thoughts. ‘Two months? I thought you said she’d been a widow three years?’
‘So she has, poor girl. She stayed on with friends in Texas, being one of those who genuinely pine without the sun. Fortunately, she can afford to live where she chooses. For the present, that’s Arumchester.’
I nodded absently as my mind had returned to the now hideously embarrassing recollection of my lecturing the great surgeon on the correct treatment for the scratch on his arm. ‘David, I feel awful!’
‘That so?’ His tone had altered. ‘Then it’s a pity you don’t feel this awful more often. Suits you.’
I was too disconcerted to take that one in, yet. ‘I even suggested he have an ATS injection! What must he’ve thought?’
‘That it was a great pity such a charming and sensible gel chose to train in St. Martha’s and not St. Catherine’s.’ He mimicked Mr. Blake’s dry, clipped voice perfectly, then added in his own, ‘With which sentiments, I so agree. I hope you can believe that.’
That got through. I did not want to be churlish and I knew that underneath he too was so hurt, but I couldn’t take any more attempts at pretty speeches we both knew he couldn’t mean. ‘Oh, sure!’
He grimaced. ‘Honey, for what it’s worth, that wasn’t soft-talk. Just a straight statement of fact.’
This was worse than worse. I could hear Bart’s voice, ‘Darling, for what it’s worth, you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved.’ I did not dare risk any answer to David. I just looked away.
After a few moments deafening silence, he said, ‘We will talk of other things. Tell me, do you come here often?’
The rest of the meal was agony. I was not surprised when he suddenly beckoned the waiter for his bill, though his rider shook me. ‘Please add more coffee for the lady and gentleman opposite.’ He smiled across the table. ‘No hurry for you. Frances and I are going to take some air. I can leave Nicky in your care, Charles?’
Charles grinned. ‘You bet! And thanks a lot!’
Nicky blinked dreamily. ‘Thank you so much, David.’
‘Thank you, both!’ He reached firmly for my hand. ‘Come along honey! And don’t try and tug free ‒’ he muttered under his breath. ‘I’m not letting go till we’re out of their sight. Right now, they’re making a memory they’ll recall with pleasure all their lives, and I’m taking no more chances on letting your sulks wreck it! Those two are old enough to be seriously in love for the first time, whilst young enough to have no domestic, professional or past complications to shadow their magical present. One should tread as softly in other peoples’ cherished memories, as one should on their dreams.’ We had left the dining-room, but instead of taking me through the foyer, he was leading me down a small corridor that opened onto a smooth green lawn sloping down to the hotel’s private stretch of river bank. Once outside, he dropped my hand like a stone. ‘I’d drive you straight home, were such an early return not bound to inform your kind and sensitive aunt that our half of tonight’s party comes top of the pops in the Disastrous Dates charts.’
I could neither deny to him, nor privately to myself, that I was responsible. He had done all he could, to be a good host. I avoided his eyes. ‘We ‒ we could look at the river.’
He shrugged. ‘Anything, to kill time.’
The long summer twilight was sliding into dusk. The velvet lawn, the old, mellow, orange bricks of the inn, the feathery willows trailing into the quiet water, the first stars in the clear sky, were all softened to the strange, haunting, pastels of colours in a dream. The shadows grew longer as we strolled, a little apart, in a tense silence. A few more stars came out, and then a gentle half-moon rose. It was a magical summer night, but there was no magic in it for us.
David broke the long silence. ‘Before the light goes take a look at me, Frances. A long, cool, look.’
Reluctantly, I obeyed. ‘Why?’
He studied me clinically before answering. ‘Yep,’ he said, ‘yep. That’s it!’ And then he said, ‘As I so remind you of George, you’d better tell me his proper name. We could be related.’
I was too shattered for pretence. ‘How ‒ how did you guess?’
‘Not all that hard.’ (His eyes were.) ‘Ever since we’ve first met, you’ve looked at me and seen another man. The correct diagnosis took me a little time as I’ve had one or two other problems on my mind, but once I got working on the signs and symptoms, wasn’t so difficult. More ‒’ he shrugged, ‘routine.’
My mouth was dry. ‘R-routine?’
‘In my job. A small infant in arms can’t tell one where it hurts, so any primary diagnosis has to be based largely on observation, plus experience.’ Suddenly, he was so gentle. ‘Where did he hurt you, Fran? Heart? Pride? Or, both?’
That gentleness choked me. I just shook my head.
‘Honey, why not tell me? Talking can help and I’d like to help,’ he coaxed. ‘If you can just start with his name, the rest may come. For your own sake, I think you should try. This bottling it all up, and flogging yourself into scrubbing this, polishing that, to make sure you’re too tired to think, isn’t doing you any good. Your aunt,’ he went on gravely, ‘has told me that apart from that drive, you’ve spent your entire holiday working fourteen hours a day. Staffing in a busy general theatre is no sinecure. Is it any wonder you’re now as tense as an overstrung violin string ‒ and I suspect not sleeping too well?’ He paused, but I stayed silent. ‘Fran, this isn’t merely idle curiosity. I’m trying to help you. Take the doctor’s advice. Tell me his name and we’ll go on from there.’
I knew his advice was good. I dare not take it, because of Bart’s wife. From the moment I had walked out on Bart after learning of her existence, I had never mentioned his name to anyone but Aunt Joey. The world could be a very small place. Bart’s name as a scriptwriter did not seem to be much known outside his professional circle, but neither directly nor indirectly was I risking harming his wife more. If by any mischance he was distantly related to David, all the more reason for silence.
‘Fran, why won’t you let me help you?’
‘I ‒ I ‒ just don’t want to talk ‒ though I realise,’ I added desperately, ‘you mean to be kind and I don’t mean to be unkind ‒ but it wouldn’t help.’
‘How can you be sure of that, or anything, till you give it a try?’ He stepped closer. ‘Try me.’
‘No!’ Instinctively, and forgetting I was so near the river, I backed. He lunged forward, pulled me back, and held on firmly to my hands.
‘What the devil are you trying to do, girl?’ he demanded sternly. ‘Chucking yourself into the river won’t solve one problem! It’ll add to it, by ruining your pretty dress, and that’s all! I can swim and with that water running smoothly as oil, I’d have you fished out before you’d gone under once! Sad waste of a dramatic gesture!’
I raised my chin. ‘I was not trying to make a dramatic gesture! I forgot the river was behind me, but if I’d slipped in I wouldn’t have needed you to rescue me as I can swim, too!’ I had been grateful for his gentleness, but his unpardonable accusation had me seething with indignation. ‘Thanks, but I don’t need your help in any way! And may I remind you you’re a paediatrician, not a psychiatrist? And that tonight I came out on a dinner date, not to be psychoanalysed! Do me a favour, David!’ I snapped. ‘Just remember I’m your guest, not your patient, and make like my date for tonight!’
Instantly, in that maddening, disturbing way he had, he switched to his sophisticated alter ego. ‘If you say so darling,’ he drawled, dropping my hands and walking well away from the water. ‘And if I may say so, darling,’ he continued as I moved from the edge, ‘you’re singularly hard to please. I’ve spent all evening trying to make like a model date ‒ and much good it’s done either of us! But if you insist on this our first ‒ and very certainly last ‒ date, that I get back in the recognised groove for this particular after-dinner moment on this glorious summer night, then back will I get ‒ at your request, remember!’ Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me into his arms and began kissing me. His first kiss was hard and angry. I tried to push free, but his hold was too strong. I froze in his arms, at first, livid with us both. Though this was the last thing I had intended, I had to realise, no matter how unintentionally, I had asked for it. Then his anger seemed to have vanished and, incredibly, it seemed as if he was kissing me not because I had taunted him, or he felt this was expected of him, but because this was how he longed to kiss me. Despite my angry confusion, I sensed that so clearly, that I had consciously to resist a sudden unaccountable conviction that I could safely relax in the security of his arms, forget the bitter past, and trust the future to the man kissing me as though his heart was on his lips.
And then I remembered where his heart belonged ‒ no ‒ at this moment. That second wave of fury was wholly directed at myself. Was I never going to learn? Again, I tried to push him from me and that time he let go, instantly.
For a timeless, breathless moment, we stared at each other. Then he took a long breath and smoothed back his dark cowlick. ‘Remembering your reaction last time I attempted to apologise, I imagine you’d prefer I left this one un-offered?’ His quiet voice was a little uneven. I just nodded. ‘I generally try not to repeat my mistakes, Frances, but having just done so, I think I must now offer you the real explanation ‒’
‘Don’t bother!’ I was too over-wrought to think clearly, or listen to another word. All I wanted was to get away from him ‒ by any means. ‘As you’ve told me to my face, David, I’m not a naïve teenager. I don’t need any explanation. I know ‒ ‘it’s different for men’ ‒ or so men say!’ I smiled bitterly. ‘I would say I’ve now paid for my supper, so would you please take me home.’
He winced as if my words had literally hit him. Suddenly his hair and eyes looked black against his white face. Without a word he swung away and walked towards the car park. Only the thought of Aunt Joey’s distress if I made my own way home, made me follow him. Neither of us spoke when we got into the car, or drove back through the narrow, winding streets.
Being the height of the tourist season and such a perfect night, Arumchester was crowded with summer visitors, some loaded with cameras, some others with haversacks. Threading amongst the strangers’ faces were the fair, fresh-complexioned, sturdy Arumchester faces; the young and bearded, or long-haired faces of the students from the Art and Technical Colleges; the boyish faces above the white ruffs and purple gowns of the Choristers’ School; the sober middle-aged and elderly faces over clerical grey.
I studied every passing face with the urgency I tended to give unimportant details when deeply perturbed. Once I glanced at David’s grim profile and wished I hadn’t. He looked even angrier than when I glimpsed his unguarded expression on the footpath the other afternoon.
Directly we drove into the square I saw with relief only Aunt Joey’s hall light was on. I unbuckled my safety-belt as he slowed at our gate. ‘I’ll see myself in ‒’
‘You will, when I’ve said what remains to be said!’
‘No! There’s no need ‒’
‘There’s every need! It’s time you stopped running away, Frances! Or are you still too much of a coward to stand five minutes of the unpalatable truth? If you are,’ he added curtly, ‘get out! There’s your aunt’s gate. I won’t stop you. But if you’ve inherited only a fraction of Miss Allendale’s courage along with her facial bone-structure and eyes, you’ll listen. Well?’
I longed to run. I had to stay. ‘What ‒ what do you want to say?’
He switched off the engine and interior light, then sat sideways to face me. ‘Quite a bit, now I’ve cooled down. Quite a bit.’ He was briefly silent, obviously choosing his words. ‘I’ll begin by repeating something else I’ve told you: this has been our first and last date. I’ll never ask you for the next. In the highly unlikely event of your ever wanting to date me, you’ll have to do the asking ‒ and I’ll warn you now, I’m far from certain I’ll accept. Strange, the difference a couple of hours can make. Believe this or not,’ he added reflectively, ‘and I don’t now give a darn either way, but up to then and from our first meeting, I’d been hoping you might one day come to feel about me as I did from sight about you. Did,’ he repeated, ‘did. Past tense. And whilst on the past, is George now married?’
He had confused me before, but never as much as this. ‘Y-yes.’
‘What are you hoping for?’ He demanded. ‘Divorce?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Then isn’t it time you stopped clinging to the past and faced the painful present in which you’ve lost him for good? Shed a few, or more than a few, tears? And then pick up the pieces and start all over again ‒ as any intelligent adult must after a jilt and even though the process hurts like the devil? And don’t think I’m not talking from first-hand on this ‒’
‘You don’t have to tell me that!’
He caught his breath. ‘If I don’t, you must have second sight, as the only person connected with Arumchester who knows about it is Sue Frampton and she’s in Holly Mill. She can’t have told you ‒ she won’t have told anyone. She’s not the type, and I should know that, having looked on her as the sister I haven’t got, since she was nine and I was ten.’ He switched on the interior light to look at me. ‘Have you been imagining me in love with Sue?’
I blinked and turned away. ‘Does it matter ‒’
‘Truth always matters! Have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ He turned off the light and was again silent for a little while. ‘I was your age,’ he went on as evenly as before, ‘when a girl I loved very much suddenly walked out on me and married another man. I was over her, long ago, but I can remember very well how it felt and hurt, at the time. Yet I don’t remember feeling that as one girl had let me down, all girls were untrustworthy. Nor did I want to hand any other girl her bill to pay. As you, Frances,’ he added deliberately, ‘have been handing me George’s.’
I knew that was true, but was too dazed to say so. I could only shake my head, helplessly.
He said, ‘If you honestly think you haven’t, then your thinking is all wrong and I do most seriously advise you to take a good look at your own actions. That’s always the best way of finding out what one’s thinking. That’s all the advice I have for you. Take it, or leave it. Your affair is no longer my concern. But before you leap out,’ his quiet voice had a new and dangerous edge, ‘I want to throw in some general information. You’ll listen?’
‘Yes.’ My voice did not sound like mine, and nor did I feel like myself. I knew now I had never met any man like him.
‘Right. Then for your information, Frances, when I date a girl, I neither expect, demand nor want any repayment beyond the pleasure of her company. No rebound, broken heart, or anything else, excuses any man for expecting kisses to be the price of a meal ticket. So you had better know exactly why I kissed you. You asked to be kissed and I very much wanted to kiss you. Yep!’ He heard my gasp. ‘Not just any girl, but you ‒ the girl I’ve been fool enough to be in real danger of loving. The girl,’ he repeated curtly, ‘that’s had me worrying over the distance between our jobs ‒ the girl that this evening was my only hope of getting to myself till heaven alone knows when ‒ the girl I thought needed help, a shoulder, and wanted to help. Not any more! A fool I may be, but I’m too old to be that foolish!’ He laughed shortly. ‘Inside every boy is a knight in shining armour longing to leap on a dashing white charger and rescue his damsel in distress, but when the boy turns man he learns to accept the unpleasant fact that some damsels won’t be rescued ‒ and aren’t worth the bother! They aren’t even worth sympathy as they give themselves too much to need more. All any intelligent man can then do is ride swiftly off in the opposite direction, thanking providence for his narrow escape. As I will.’ He paused, but I could not have spoken had my life depended on it.
He said more gently, ‘I haven’t much enjoyed life since meeting you, Frances. You’ve now made the prospect of my picking up my former life here seem very pleasant. I shall enjoy life again and I hope you will too, one day. I’m sorry George has hurt you. I’m even sorrier at the way you’re hurting yourself by clinging to his memory and wallowing in self-pity. I hope when you eventually shed your immature, impolite prickles, things work out right for you. Most of us make one crashing error of judgment in our lives, if not more. Even Homer sometimes nods. For your sake, I hope you don’t repeat it and for both our sakes,’ he added, ‘I hope that we don’t have to meet again. If we do, we’ll have to make the best of it ‒ and as we’re supposedly civilised adults,’ his tone hardened, ‘there’ll be no need for you to cringe against another wall if you suddenly see me, as you did on that footpath the other afternoon. If you don’t want to see me, just look the other way! And that’s all!’ He leant forward to open my door without touching me. ‘I’ll see you in from here. I won’t return insult for insult by thanking you for coming. ’Night.’
I never knew how I got out of the car. I was sitting on the stairs when I heard him drive on, and in the following silence, the pounding of my heart. Psmith lumbered out of his basket, but in place of his usual exuberant welcome, sat quietly beside me. He did not know what, but his instincts told him something had gone very wrong for me on that lovely summer night.
And so did mine.
Chapter Five
‘Charles, do be careful!’ I implored, for the umpteenth time.
‘Fran, your middle name should be Cassandra!’ Nicky lowered her paint brush. ‘Talk about a prophetess of gloom! How do you expect the poor man to unstick the top sash of that window, without standing on that chest? He may be six-three, but that window’s ten-feet high and I’m on our only step-ladder!’
