It was no use, Abigail reasoned, battling with continually recurring doubts, and when an opportunity presented itself immediately after breakfast the following day, she took it.
“Rupert, let’s walk down to the boathouse, we can have a chat,” she said pointedly.
It was not so much a suggestion as a statement, leaving Rupert no option but to agree. Penelope rose to accompany them, but Abigail’s expression was one which even she couldn’t mistake, and she sat back in her seat wearing a resigned expression.
Once out of earshot of the villa, Abigail came straight to the point. “We’re not going to get married, are we, Rupert?” she heard herself saying. “We just don’t love each other enough.”
The words were out. It hadn’t been at all what she had intended to say, but somehow the words spilled out of their own accord.
“I’m very fond of you, Abigail,” began Rupert.
“Fond, yes,” interrupted Abigail, “but not fond enough to spend much time with me; since I’ve been here you’ve spent most of your time with Penelope.”
“You haven’t objected too much, since you’ve spent quite a bit of time with Greg,” observed Rupert, his voice sounding sullen.
A frown creased her forehead. The conversation wasn’t going the way she’d planned at all. She hadn’t intended to quarrel with Rupert, although she had to admit her opening statement had hardly been conducive to the furtherance of good relations! Rupert fidgeted about, scuffing one foot amongst the loose gravel on the path. He looked very unhappy, and Abigail too felt a sadness overwhelming her. Silently she slipped the ring off her finger and held it out to him.
“I think I’d better return this,” she said quietly.
For a moment he hesitated, then took the ring and pocketed it. “I don’t know what to say,” he muttered.
“There isn’t much we can say really, is there?” asked Abigail. Suddenly she felt relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
“I…suppose I might as well come clean,” said Rupert, flushing a dull red. “I didn’t know how to tell you that I wanted to marry Penelope. I told Greg last night—he didn’t seem very surprised, though,” he added.
Abigail stood silent. No, she reflected, Greg wouldn’t have been at all surprised. Hadn’t he said last night that Rupert was more interested in “Sir Jason’s daughter, and all the business contacts that went with her?”
“The only thing is…” Rupert hesitated, then said, “I might as well tell you. I had thought that perhaps Greg cared for you, but somehow I think I put my foot in it badly when I mentioned money.” He turned to face her, his mouth moving convulsively, his eyes troubled. “He just sort of froze up, but I didn’t mean that you were looking for a man with money, I was trying to tell him that I was concerned about you, how you’d manage, with the expenses of the cottage and everything…” His voice tailed off lamely.
“Don’t worry,” said Abigail drily, “I’m well aware that Greg thinks I’m after a man for security!” She tried to laugh lightly, but it was a bitter sound that escaped her lips. “You merely confirmed what he already thought.” She turned, and started to walk back up the path, then paused and looked back. “Anyway, you’re very mistaken in thinking Greg Lincoln cares for me. Attracted slightly, yes, but that’s not the same thing. And he is definitely not my type!”
“You mean to tell me you and Rupert have broken it off?” demanded Penelope later that afternoon, as they lay sunbathing on the lake shore.
Abigail sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, watching the figures of Rupert and Greg on the small sailing dinghy far out in the middle of the lake.
“I should have thought Rupert would have already told you,” she said quietly.
“He will,” said Penelope with a smug confidence, adding as an afterthought, “I’m sorry for you, of course, Abigail.”
“Don’t be,” said Abigail quickly. “I feel happier now that it’s done.”
“It makes everything so much easier,” mused Penelope.
“What do you mean?”
“Rupert and I are not returning to England with you and Greg on Thursday,” said Penelope. “He hasn’t finished the work here for Daddy, another lucrative contract has come up.”
“But aren’t you due back on the ward?” asked Abigail.
Penelope looked momentarily uncomfortable, then brazened it out. “I’ve already telephoned in my resignation,” she said airily, “and a letter is on its way confirming it.”
Abigail spread her hands in a gesture of surprise. It suddenly seemed incredible that she could have been so blind. Although deep in her heart she knew it wasn’t so much a case of being blind, rather that she had been purposely wearing blinkers.
“Nursing has never really been my forte,” confessed Penelope, languidly applying suntan oil to her shapely legs.
“I had noticed,” Abigail couldn’t help rejoining. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to find out!”
The next two days couldn’t pass quickly enough as far as Abigail was concerned. Although not a word had passed between the four of them it was by silent mutual consent that the broken engagement was not mentioned to the rest of the household. Of course, Greg’s parents knew that only Greg and Abigail were returning to England, but if they thought anything was amiss, they kept their thoughts to themselves.
“The trouble with working in a hospital, dear,” said Greg’s mother as she kissed her effusively goodbye, “is that duty always comes first.”
Abigail smiled. “Thank you for a lovely holiday, I’m only sorry it’s over.” But she couldn’t help thinking as she spoke that a part of her life was over too. She’d been right about her premonition of doom at the prospect of visiting Italy.
It was a strange, silent trip back to England. Abigail had expected Greg to refer to her broken engagement, even if only to say “I told you so.” But he made no mention of it. Even on the drive back from Heathrow, he remained silent, limiting his remarks to brief invectives when someone foolishly cut across lanes on the motorway.
Several times Abigail stole furtive glances at his profile, but it was always the same; stern and forbidding. She wished she could say something to break the stony silence, but her mind was stubbornly blank. All she knew was that with each mile they got nearer to their destination, she felt more depressed and miserable. A fact not helped by gale force winds and lashing rain, which buffeted the car on its journey.
When they finally reached her cottage, Greg helped her in with the luggage. “I won’t stop,” he said, “I’m tired, and I’m sure you must be too.”
“Yes,” admitted Abigail, looking around at the familiar things spread out in the lounge. It was then that she noticed the damp patch by the chimney breast. Involuntarily she went across and felt the spot; it was damp to her touch. Damn, the pouring rain must have penetrated one of the cracked tiles on the roof.
Greg noticed it too. “Roof leak,” he said briefly.
“Looks like it,” said Abigail, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ll have to get the roof patched up.”
“How will you afford it?” he asked practically.
“I shall go to Saudi Arabia and work for eighteen months,” said Abigail on the spur of the moment. She knew plenty of girls who had gone out and earned a tax-free fortune, at least a fortune in comparison to English nurses’ pay.
“Saudi Arabia!” exclaimed Greg. “That’s a little drastic, isn’t it?”
“Drastic perhaps,” said Abigail defensively, her hackles rising at his incredulous tone, “but very practical. The salary is five times as much as here, and tax-free. I could pay for a new roof and come back with money in my pocket.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea at all,” he said brusquely. “Saudi Arabia is no place for a girl like you.”
“I’m the best judge of that, I’m quite capable of looking after myself.”
“I’ll have a coffee before I go,” announced Greg, suddenly changing his mind, and plonking himself down in the middle of the settee.
Abigail looked at him crossly. She couldn’t very well refuse; he had just driven her a hundred miles. But she didn’t feel like embarking on a long argument over the relative merits on raising money for a leaking roof! So it was with a slightly ungracious air that she went into the kitchen, and clattered the coffee cups, trying, not very successfully, not to worry about the future. Although she had just said it was practical, she wasn’t happy with the idea of working in the Middle East, a fact wild horses couldn’t have dragged from her in front of Greg.
She stood quite still for a moment, breathing in the atmosphere of the cottage. Perhaps she should be sensible and sell it; after all, her father hadn’t known about all the expenses when he’d asked her to keep it; and he’d been a sick man, not capable of thinking rationally. But still, she was reluctant to break that promise.
The coffee made, she carried the tray through to the lounge, to find Greg with his feet up, looking for all the world as if he intended to stay, just as long as it took to change her mind!
Abigail glanced towards him warily, as silently she passed a steaming cup of coffee. “Sell the cottage,” he said abruptly, coming straight to the point.
“I’ve no intention of doing that,” replied Abigail stubbornly.
“Why not? It’s only a tumbledown flint cottage.”
“It is not!” her voice rose angrily, “it’s the most important thing in life to me!”
“I see.” Greg slowly sipped his coffee, surveying her over the rim of his cup. “Your fiancé has jilted you for another woman, and all you can think about is your precious cottage!”
“You don’t understand anything, it’s a waste of time talking to you.” Jumping up, she made a move towards the rain-lashed window.
But Greg reached out, and catching her wrist forced her back, to sit beside him on the settee “Sit down,” he ordered tersely. “I feel responsible for the break-up of your engagement, so I feel responsible for you too.”
“There’s no need to feel responsible, it had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
“There’s not much advice I can give you about your love life,” he began.
“I don’t want any advice,” snapped Abigail, “especially not from you!”
“OK. Let’s stick to the problem of the cottage,” he was undeterred. “Why are you so determined to keep it?”
Abigail stared stonily across the room, the familiar objects swimming in a haze before her troubled gaze. Greg would never understand a promise made to her dying father, he was too practical, he would never let emotions sway his judgement, she was sure of that.
“Well?” he persisted, “answer me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” came the response.
Abigail took a deep breath. “I promised my father when he was ill that I would keep the cottage. But that’s not the only reason—I want to keep it. It’s the only part of my mother and father I have left.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Greg.
“There you are, I knew you wouldn’t understand,” cried Abigail angrily. “It is a waste of time talking to you.”
“Why don’t you let me finish, before you jump down my throat!”
She maintained a rebellious silence. What did he know about anything! A few short months ago, before he had arrived from America, everything in her life had been calm and ordered—and now—!
“Abigail,” Greg’s voice was surprisingly gentle, “you have your memories of your parents. Nothing can destroy those, they’re yours, locked in your mind to cherish for ever. The cottage, although lovely, is only bricks and mortar. It can’t be that important to you.”
“It is,” said Abigail stubbornly, “and I’ve already decided what to do. I shall give in my notice tomorrow, and go and work in Saudi Arabia.”
Greg snorted impatiently. “You’re the most pigheaded female I know,” he said, “impossible to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” said Abigail proudly. She tilted her head defiantly, grey eyes flashing, challenging him to disagree.
“OK, have it your own way,” said Greg abruptly, swinging his legs down from the settee in an impatient movement and nearly tipping her on to the floor in the process. “I won’t detain you any longer, we’re both on duty tomorrow.”
A frigid silence reigned as Abigail opened the door for him; for a moment he paused as if about to say something, but then turning up the collar of his coat against the rain, he disappeared into the, darkness.
After he’d gone, a chilly mood of desolation settled over her. The warm sunshine and the sparkling blue waters of the lake in Italy might as well have been on another planet, they seemed so remote. Miserably she humped her luggage up the stairs, averting her eyes from the ominous damp patch of the lounge ceiling.
Next day, back on the ward, everyone crowed with envy at the sight of her tan. “You are lucky,” sighed Sue, looking at Abigail’s sun-streaked hair and healthy tan. “I look so awful, as if I’m dying!” She peered into the changing room mirror, sticking her tongue out at her reflection.
Abigail burst out laughing. Anyone less like dying would be hard to imagine. Sue’s flaming red hair, and cream and pink complexion, combined to make her look permanently in the rudest of health.
“The tan will wear off,” Abigail consoled her, as they walked on to the ward together. Sister Collins was at her desk, and gave a perfunctory nod.
“Do you know, I think she actually missed Mr. Lincoln,” said Sue as they pulled the drug trolley out from its corner. “Even though we didn’t have a ward round, she made us all do everything as usual, almost as if she was expecting him to turn up!”
Abigail laughed again. She was feeling better already. She was back in the environment she loved, the hospital. This was where she belonged. They stopped at the first patient, and Abigail poured out the linctus prescribed for Mr. Grover, then passed the beaker to Sue. She couldn’t help noticing Sue’s eyes were riveted on her hand. The ring was gone, but the telltale patch of pale skin showed where it had been.
“Where’s your ring?” asked Sue as soon as they had moved away from Mr. Grover.
Abigail groaned, but braced herself. Might as well get it over with, everyone would know soon enough anyway. “I’m no longer engaged,” she answered briefly.
“Oh,” Sue’s eyes nearly popped out of her head, “but it was such a lovely ring!”
“It wasn’t the ring I didn’t like, it was the prospect of marriage.” She didn’t mention Penelope Orchard’s involvement—time enough for that juicy piece of gossip to be digested later!
“Oh,” said Sue again, dying to ask more questions. But Abigail’s expression didn’t encourage her, so she had to contain her curiosity and continue with the drug round.
The rest of the morning dragged. The ward was still half empty from the holidays, and Greg didn’t put in an appearance as his patients had yet to be admitted. At lunchtime Abigail hurried down to the canteen, hoping that Lynne might be on the same lunch break as herself. She was in luck, Lynne was sitting alone at a table by the window, and grabbing a salad from the cold counter, Abigail joined her friend.
Lynne looked her up and down enviously, “It’s disgusting,” she said, “for anyone to be so brown, especially in this weather!” She looked gloomily out of the window, where the rain was still pouring down. “I got your card, by the way—was it really as lovely as you described it?”
“Better,” said Abigail, the blue skies of Italy flashing momentarily before her eyes, banishing the cold grey of the English summer. “You must go to Italy some time.”
“Perhaps I will, soon,” said Lynne, suddenly stretching her left hand towards Abigail. A solitaire diamond sparkled on her ring finger. “We got engaged last weekend,” she breathed. “Derek doesn’t want a long engagement, so we’re to be married next month, and he says we might go to Italy for our honeymoon.” The information was imparted in Lynne’s usual fashion, without a pause for breath.
“Lynne!” Abigail grasped her friend’s hand, “I’m so glad.” Then she smiled. “But I’m not exactly surprised, I can recognise true love when I see it.”
Lynne’s face clouded over. “I hear via the grapevine that you’ve broken off your engagement to Rupert.”
“Yes,” said Abigail briefly.
“What went wrong?” asked her friend with genuine concern.
Abigail smiled sadly. Seeing Lynne so happy made her feel even more alone. “It was never really right, Lynne,” she said at last. “I suppose, deep down, I knew that all the time, but I kidded myself.” Then she made a determined effort and smiled cheerfully. “At least we didn’t make the mistake of getting married and then finding out.” Then she told Lynne, feeling she had to tell someone, that Rupert had fallen for Penelope Orchard.
“Well, of all the nasty creatures!” exploded Lynne.
“It takes two,” Abigail reminded her.
Lynne looked thoughtful. “On holiday at Greg’s villa!” A scheming expression flickered with sudden delight across her face. “Perhaps you and Greg…”
“Forget it,” said Abigail sharply. “I’ve had quite enough ‘romance’ to last me for a while. I am definitely off men!”
Lynne tactfully changed the subject. “Your ward busy?”
“Not today, but from tomorrow onwards the workload is going to be very busy, especially for the surgeons. They’ve called in so many patients it isn’t true.”
Lynne laughed. “That makes me even more glad I’m going to marry a radiologist. At least he’ll be home sometimes to see his children growing up.” She peered across at Abigail’s watch hanging from her uniform pocket. “Heavens, is that the time? I must dash—see you.” Snatching up her tray, she scurried away.
Left on her own, Abigail sat watching the raindrops sliding relentlessly down the windowpane; it really was foul weather, grey and cheerless, not summer at all. Fits my mood, she thought dejectedly.
She walked slowly back to the ward, wishing it was tomorrow when they would be busy; if there was one thing she hated it was inactivity. But as soon as she arrived Sister Collins called her over.
“Staff,” she said, “I’ve volunteered you to help on the children’s section, they’re rather busy round there. I hope you don’t mind, but as you’ve not had a lot of experience with children, I thought it would stand you in good stead when you apply for a Sister’s post.”
“Why, thank you,” said Abigail, glad to have something positive to do; although as far as helping her with an application for a Sister’s post—well, that was another matter. In fact, it was something she hadn’t thought of terribly seriously.
As she walked to the children’s section she mulled the idea over, but then rejected it. Even a Sister’s salary wouldn’t be enough to pay for the repairs to the cottage; there was nothing for it but Saudi Arabia. Although in spite of her defiant words to Greg the previous evening, she’d put off handing in her notice that day.
Once she arrived on the children’s section, however, her own problems were forgotten. “Thank goodness you’ve come!” cried Sister Moon when she spied her. “We’ve got every bed full, and the problem is they’re all feeling well!”
That fact was not difficult to deduce, judging from the racket emanating from a room down the corridor.
“Would you believe it, but that’s the quiet room!” said Sister Moon, agitatedly pushing back stray strands of hair beneath her cap. “I’ve had to let them overflow from the activity room.”
Abigail raised her eyebrows. “Sounds as if there’s plenty of activity going on in the quiet room,” she observed with a smile.
Sister Moon agreed. “The trouble is our play leader is sick. I need someone to help with their drawing and painting—do you think you can do it?”
“I’ll try anything once,” replied Abigail, and set off down the corridor in the direction of the noise.
Surprising even herself, she found it easy to entertain the children. Casting her mind back to her own infant days, she showed them how to cut up potatoes and make potato prints. In no time at all peace reigned, as the children busily printed their potato pictures on large sheets of coloured paper.
“Can we hang them up when they’re finished?” demanded one small boy with an attractive husky voice.
“Yes,” said Abigail, hoping Sister Moon wouldn’t object to the corridor being festooned with coloured paper.
So intent was she, kneeling on the floor helping a little girl press down her potato firmly, that she didn’t hear Sister Moon and Greg Lincoln come in.
“Ah, peace at last! Well done, Nurse Pointer.” At the sound of Sister Moon’s voice Abigail turned.
They were standing in the doorway of the quiet room, which by now was living up to its name. Greg was smiling, and involuntarily Abigail found herself smiling back; the dancing light in his sparkling brown eyes was quite infectious.
“You have a blue blob on the end of your nose,” he remarked, adding as Abigail vainly rubbed at it, “Now you’ve added red—a most becoming combination!”
Greg and Sister Moon left, and Abigail turned back to the children. Her spirits had lifted, and as if to complement her feelings, the rain stopped and the sun came out, its warming rays sloping through the windows of the quiet room. The afternoon had passed by quickly, so absorbed had she been with her work with the children.
“I think we’d better clean these children up and get them back into bed now,” she told the student nurse helping her. “Supper will be coming round soon.”
“Don’t forget you said you’d pin up our pictures,” reminded the husky-voiced boy with a disarming smile, whose name Abigail had found out was Timmy Smith.
Good as her word, Abigail clambered on a chair and dutifully pinned up the pictures in the corridor. Then it was a rush, getting the children washed before supper time.
“It’s fish fingers tonight,” said Timmy Smith, “my favourite.” He smiled up at her, and Abigail was struck one again by the unselfconscious charm of the little boy.
Making her way down the staircase much later, when she had finally finished, she suddenly realised just how tired she felt. From being bored in the morning, she had been completely absorbed all the afternoon, so it was only now that she felt tired.
“You look weary.” It was Greg, flying down the stairs two at a time. “Did all those children exhaust you?”
“A little,” Abigail admitted, “but I enjoyed myself.”
“I could see that,” he returned drily. “Didn’t I tell you I could imagine you surrounded by hordes of children!”
She blushed. “If I ever do have children,” she said lightly, “it will never be that many!”
“Thought any more about Saudi Arabia?” he asked suddenly, changing the subject.
“Yes,” said Abigail.
“Don’t rush into anything you might regret…”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupted with just a trace of bitterness, “I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to rush into anything.”
“Good,” said Greg briskly, “at least that’s an improvement on last night’s attitude!” Then he stopped, and leaning forward lightly touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “It’s still red and blue,” he said with a grin, “did you forget?” Then he carried on his way, down the stairs two at a time, and disappeared through the swing doors at the bottom.