THE NEXT DAY began badly. George arrived late for a start and hard on his heels came an emergency—a young railway porter who had slipped and fallen on to the line in the path of a train. He lay, incredibly cheerful, unaware, because of the kindly muffling of the morphia he had been given, that he was going to lose half a leg and face several months of pain and discomfort before he would be able to stand on the other one. He grinned feebly at Tabitha as she checked the blood drip and looked at his dressings and whispered: ‘Me for the butcher’s shop, I suppose, Sister?’
Tabitha smiled at him, a warm, steady smile that radiated reassurance. ‘Well, you do need a bit of repair work done, don’t you? Here’s the surgeon to have a quick look.’
‘I’ve seen one already.’
‘That was the Casualty Officer. This is Mr Steele, the Orthopaedic Registrar.’
She lifted the light cover of the trolley upon which the patient lay, stationing her person in such a way that there was no chance of the patient seeing anything; he was weak with loss of blood and semi-conscious from the morphia, but there was always the possibility that he might want to see the shocking mess under the sterile towel. George stared at it, then without looking at Tabitha said: ‘Well, old man, I think the quicker we get up to the operating theatre with you the better, don’t you?’ He smiled and nodded cheerfully and said ‘See you later,’ as he walked away.
Tabitha beckoned to a nurse to take her place and went after George.
‘Do his people know?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, Cas saw to that—they’ll send his wife up as soon as she gets here.’
‘Nasty mess,’ said George. ‘Send him up at the double, will you, Tabby? We’ll do the cleaning up. What’s he had?’
She told him and he scribbled on a chart. ‘Just give the atrophine, then.’ He started off down the corridor, saying something as he went, but she was already going in the opposite direction and didn’t hear him. She had a great deal to do: the theatre list would have to be reorganized. It was a pity that the first case had already had his premed, but there was nothing she could do about that until she knew how long the emergency would take. She telephoned for the porters and then went to take another look at the patient and looked at the clock as she went. It was time to release the tourniquet again for a brief time; she was just readjusting it once more when the porters arrived. She would have liked to take him to theatre herself, but his wife would be coming and she would have to see her. She sent one of the part-time staff nurses and went back into the ward. She did a hasty round first, interrupted several times by telephone calls, dietitians, physiotherapists and an early visit from Matron, who sailed round the ward, towing Tabitha with her, graciously ignoring the disorder of a morning which had started off on the wrong foot.
Mrs Morgan, the porter’s wife, arrived shortly afterwards; a large plump young woman who looked at Tabitha with trusting eyes. ‘My Dickie will be all right, won’t he?’ she enquired of Tabitha as she was made comfortable in the office and given tea. ‘They said his legs were hurt.’
Tabitha sipped tea she didn’t want, but it was easier to talk over the teacups. ‘I’m afraid so, Mrs Morgan—one leg is broken in two places; it will be set and put in plaster and he’ll be able to use it again, but not for some time, of course. The other leg is crushed below the knee, I’m not sure what is to be done to it, but you can be sure the surgeons will do everything they can to put it right.’ She paused. ‘Try not to worry too much, Mrs Morgan, your husband looks a big strong man and healthy…they’ll get him on his feet again.’
‘His own feet, Sister?’ Mrs Morgan gave a watery smile. ‘Don’t answer that, and I don’t care anyway, just so long as I get my Dickie back.’ The smile faded. ‘He’s not going to die, is he?’
‘No!’ replied Tabitha forcefully. ‘The operation is being done by an excellent surgeon.’ She spoke with a certainty which quite reassured her companion, although she herself didn’t feel quite so happy about it. Not that George wasn’t an excellent man at his job—he would amputate and do it well, but the unbidden thought that if Marius had been there he would have patched and stitched and pinned and plated the tatters of flesh and bone with all his skill and might, to try and save the leg, because a man’s own leg, however scarred and twisted, was still better than the beautifully made artificial one he would be offered in exchange. She left Mrs Morgan in the office and went back into the ward because Sue had sent down a message to say that they were opening the second theatre and would she send up the first case on the list, and when Tabitha asked how Mr Morgan was getting on Sue said hurriedly: ‘He’ll be hours,’ and rang off before Tabitha had time to ask who was taking the second theatre. Surely Mr Raynard hadn’t decided to come in—if so, she was heartily sorry for Sue, for Mr Raynard was grumpy enough when he was fit; with a stiff leg and a cold in the head he’d be unmanageable.
But she had no leisure for speculation; there was a great deal to do as the morning wore on full of petty hindrances and annoyances. The third case was already in theatre and Mr Morgan was still not back. Tabitha served the patients’ dinners and refused to go to her own; snapping off poor Rogers’ head when she suggested it, only to apologise immediately and take her staff nurse’s advice to go to the office and have some tea and sandwiches. It was a relief to get away from the orderly turmoil of the ward for a brief spell, besides it gave her a chance to make up the charts. And all the time there was the nagging worry of how she was to prevent Chidlake falling into the hands of a stranger, aching at the back of her mind like a decayed tooth.
Mr Morgan came back an hour later, looking much smaller and very white on the stretcher. It was while they were putting him very carefully back into his bed that Tabitha saw that he still had two legs. The one pinned and plated and ready to go up into extension, the second—the mangled one—was in a half plaster with a heavy dressing from knee to ankle, but unmistakably his five toes bore mute evidence of the fact that there had been no amputation.
She raised a questioning eyebrow at the staff nurse who had brought him back from theatre. ‘They saved the leg?’
The staff nurse nodded. ‘Yes, Sister—it was a wonderful job. It took nearly five hours.’ Her voice held the merest hint of reproach; she should have been off duty an hour ago, a fact Tabitha instantly recalled.
‘Poor Staff, I am sorry—do a three-hour stint tomorrow to make up for it. There’s coffee or tea in the kitchen, get the orderly to make you a sandwich, but before you go tell me exactly what he had done.’
‘Mr van Beek told me not to bother; he’s coming down himself to see you at the end of the list, Sister.’
Tabitha said quietly: ‘I see, Staff. Do go off duty and thank you for staying.’ She took her patient’s pulse and charted it, her own hammering almost as fast. So Marius was back and in theatre, and in a little while she would see him. She smiled on the thought and then dismissed him from her mind as she applied herself to the task of keeping Mr Morgan alive. The last case came back soon after and by then it was after four o’clock, and ten minutes later her quick ear heard the murmur of voices in the corridor and a moment later the ward door swung open and Marius and George Steele came in: they were still in their theatre gowns and boots and Marius looked tired. The sight of him and the fact that she hadn’t eaten a proper meal for some time made her feel quite lightheaded. She stayed where she was by Mr Morgan’s bed and the men came to a halt beside her. George gave her a sidelong glance and said nothing. Marius said pleasantly: ‘Hullo, Tabitha—how’s our patient?’
She stared up at him. ‘You saved his leg.’
‘I hope so.’ He smiled slightly and waited for her to speak.
‘Hullo,’ she said belatedly. ‘He’s fine’—she plunged into precise details and Marius nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good—George, get the electrolytes checked, will you? He’s had ten’—he raised an eyebrow at Tabitha who said: ‘Eleven’—‘pints of blood, let’s get him on to saline.’ He turned back to Tabitha and gave detailed instructions as to treatment and then said: ‘Leave his chart out, will you, Sister? I’ll write up the operation before I go. Now, what about the other men?’ He turned away and said cheerfully to George: ‘Quite a day,’ then looked at Tabitha, making her aware of untidy hair and a face which must by now be devoid of make-up. ‘You too, Sister—shouldn’t you be off duty?’
It was true, she should have gone off at half past four, but Rogers had more than enough to cope with and if she went home she would only sit and think about Chidlake—she mumbled: ‘Oh, well—not really,’ which vague remark caused Marius to raise an eyebrow although he said nothing as she led them down the ward. It was another half-hour before they were done and then Marius asked to see Mrs Morgan, waiting patiently in the office. He disappeared inside the little room, leaving Tabitha and George Steele standing in the ward.
It was a chance to find out what exactly Marius had done to save the leg; George explained at some length, ending: ‘A nice piece of surgery; no wonder he’s got such a reputation—and he deserves it. I’ve written up Morgan’s chart, but I’ll be down again this evening.’
‘I gave the penicillin at four,’ said Tabitha, and remembered she had already told him that. She blushed and said: ‘Sorry, George— I’ve said that already.’
‘What’s on your mind, Tabby?’ he asked kindly. ‘You’ve looked unhappy for weeks and now, today, you look desperate.’
She managed a smile. ‘Nothing to worry about, George,’ and as she spoke was struck by an idea so outrageous that she gasped. ‘Oh, George, you’ve given me an idea—at least, it came into my head…’
She got no further because Marius came out of the office with Mrs Morgan. She watched him accompany her to her husband’s bedside and settle her in a chair and when he returned she said very quickly before she could change her mind: ‘Could you spare me a minute, sir? There’s something I want to ask you.’
She watched his face as she spoke, but there was no expression on it other than polite interest and he answered readily enough. ‘Yes, of course. George, give me a ring this evening, will you? Let me know if you should want me, but everything looks pretty straightforward, given a little luck.’
The two men said goodbye and Marius followed her into her office and waited for her to sit down, but she stayed on her feet; what she had to say had to be said standing. She took a deep breath, and not mincing matters, asked: ‘Will you lend me some money?’
Marius was leaning against the door. If he was surprised his face didn’t show it. ‘How much?’ He sounded friendly and she took heart.
‘About three hundred thousand pounds.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Have I as much money as that?’ he queried mildly.
‘Well, I don’t know.’ She raised anxious eyes to his calm grey ones. ‘It’s all right if you haven’t, only I don’t know anyone else to ask.’
‘Do you need the money so badly, Tabby?’
‘Yes—my stepmother told me…’ She stopped because her throat ached with sudden tears and it would never do to cry now. She turned her back on him and went on in a resolutely controlled voice: ‘She’s going to sell Chidlake,’ and because her back was still turned to him she didn’t see the expression on his face. ‘She never liked it, you know—Lilith doesn’t either, but I expect you know that. I thought if I could get someone to lend me the money I could buy it…’
Marius hadn’t moved. He asked: ‘Security?’
‘The deeds—wouldn’t that do? I telephoned an agent in Lyme Regis and he told me Chidlake would fetch about three hundred thousand pounds. I’ve an annuity from my mother—I could use that to pay it off and add the same amount from my salary. I’ll sell the car and get a job at Lyme hospital and use a bike. Meg and I could manage.’ Her voice, despite her efforts, rose a little and shook with excitement. ‘We’ve got our own fruit and vegetables there, you know, and in the summer we could do bed and breakfast—Meg wouldn’t mind, and I could help when I come off duty…’
His voice broke into her escalating thoughts. He sounded cool and businesslike. ‘It would take you forty years to repay your debt, and you’ve forgotten the interest.’
‘Then I shall pay for more than forty years.’
He let that pass. ‘And if you marry?’
Tabitha turned to face him again. She said steadily: ‘I’m twenty-five, no one has ever asked me to marry them, and I think it fairly certain that no one ever will.’ She swallowed back the cold lump of misery which was threatening to choke her. ‘Chidlake’s been my home all my life—it’s belonged to my family ever since it was built. It’s important to me that no—no strangers live there, not while there’s still a Crawley…’
She wanted to go on talking, to try and explain how she felt and make him understand, but he interrupted her gently: ‘Tabby, I’m sorry—it’s no good.’
She said quickly, not looking at him: ‘No, of course not—I must have been crazy. I beg your pardon…’
‘Chidlake is already sold.’
She stared at him for a long minute. There was a mistake, of course, someone had misinformed him—and how could he know anyway? She said painfully: ‘I don’t believe it. My stepmother said after Christmas—at least—I’m not sure. It’s only a few days ago that I saw her.’
‘The house is sold.’
Rising temper and alarm sent her voice soaring. ‘Then why wasn’t I told—and who to? Do you know?’ She felt a small thrust of hope. ‘Perhaps I could buy it back.’
Marius said with a calm reasonableness she found infuriating: ‘I doubt it—I happen to know that it has been sold to someone who expects to marry—he’s not likely to sell, is he?’
She ignored this. ‘You know who it is.’ She darted a look of fury at him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How contemptible of you! You must have known how much I…’
He cut her short deliberately. ‘My dear girl, I’m only just back from Holland. For all I knew you had come to some arrangement with Mrs Crawley.’
Tabitha said in a bitter little voice: ‘You had no reason to tell me. I’m sorry I bothered you with all this—only I—I thought of it suddenly while I was talking to George just now and it seemed such a good idea.’ She backed away to her desk and picked up a handful of papers regardless of whether they required her attention or not, but at least he would see that she didn’t want to say any more about the whole miserable business. She ventured jerkily: ‘Good night. I hope I haven’t kept you.’ Her voice was cold.
Marius apparently didn’t hear the coldness; he said thoughtfully:
‘It is just possible that I may be able to help you—at least it’s worth a try. I have a slight acquaintance with the buyer of Chidlake. I don’t think for one moment that he would consider selling it—or even letting it. I believe that I can find out his solicitors, they might agree to forward a letter. I’ll let you have the address.’
Tabitha was staring at him, her eyes very bright. She had missed a great deal of this speech, for her attention had been caught and fired by one word. ‘Letting?’ she exclaimed. ‘I never thought of that—if I could see whoever it is and make him understand. Marius, did you really mean that?’
She became aware of his steady regard. ‘Do you think I’m being silly? But I have to try. I’m sorry I asked you for that money…’
A peculiar expression was fleetingly visible on Marius’s impassive face. ‘What made you suppose that I had such a sum at my disposal?’
Tabitha gave him a quick look. He had behaved indifferently to her—he must surely have known how much she loved her home and he had let Mrs Crawley sell it without saying a word, but at least he was trying to help her now. She explained quickly. ‘It was something Knotty said one day—oh, ages ago.’ She sighed without knowing it, remembering that happy time. ‘He said you were a man of substance and I thought that perhaps a man of substance might have that much money. You see,’ she went on, wanting to explain, ‘you’re not married like Mr Raynard with a wife and children to support. I thought…’ Her voice tailed away; she wasn’t making much of a success of it. ‘I expect you find us very vulgar talking about money, but we weren’t discussing you,’ she added anxiously.
He ignored that. ‘Is this what you really want?’ he wanted to know. ‘Would you be happy living at Chidlake for the rest of your life? It wouldn’t be easy, you know. You won’t have Meg for ever and as you yourself said, you are twenty-five.’
She cast him a waspish look; it was one thing for her to remark upon her age, but there was no need for him to do so too. ‘Yes,’ she said a shade too loudly. ‘Yes, of course it is.’
She suddenly couldn’t bear it any longer, for there was nothing she wanted to do other than be with Marius for the rest of her life—an idea which unhappily enough hadn’t occurred to him. She rustled the papers still in her hands and he said at once: ‘I’m holding you up, I’ll say good night. I’ll see that you get that address!’
He turned away and strode up the corridor without another word or look.
Tabitha stayed awake most of the night wondering if he would remember, and when she saw his scrawled directions on her notepad in the morning, she could have cried with relief and shame too for ever having doubted him. She tucked the paper away in a pocket and got on with her work until her coffee break, when, using hospital stationery with a reckless disregard for the rules, she wrote a brief, businesslike letter, enclosed it in a neatly addressed envelope and took it to the front hall letter box and posted it, having borrowed a stamp from the head porter, Mr Biggs.
She then went back to the ward and applied herself to her work once more, resolutely dismissing the matter from her mind. She did not have the same success with Marius, however; she thought about him constantly and every time the door opened she jumped nervously, longing to see him while at the same time having not the least idea what she would say to him. It was only on her way home that she remembered that he had said he wouldn’t be in until the late evening.
There was, of course, no letter the next day. It dragged through its interminable length, made longer by George telling her that Mr van Beek found it impossible to come in until after five o’clock and she was off duty at that hour. Although she was sick of her day she hung around until almost half past, and then, beaten by Staff’s hurt look at not being left alone to get on with things, Tabitha went. Ten minutes later she crossed the forecourt to the Fiat and passed the Bentley on the way. It was empty and it hadn’t been there when she had gone off duty—perhaps Marius didn’t want to see her. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had put him in a very awkward position; she could imagine how her stepmother would feel if she discovered that her stepdaughter was trying to get Chidlake back. He must be very sure of Lilith to risk their displeasure. Tabitha clashed the gears, hating Lilith, who was so very pretty and clever enough to get her own way as well as determined.
Tabitha edged the car into the street outside and drove home very badly. She spent the evening mooning around the flat, eating nothing of the tasty supper Meg had prepared and displaying an ill-humour quite at variance with her usual calm disposition. She wasn’t on duty until one o’clock the next day so that impatience made her so irritable that even Meg’s placid good nature was shaken. When Tabitha had contradicted her for the fourth or fifth time in as many minutes, Meg said in her firm nanny’s voice: ‘Now, Miss Tabitha, I know you’re upset and it’s a nasty old patch we’re going through, but nothing lasts. It’s always darkest just before the dawn.’
Tabitha had to laugh. ‘Darling Meg—I promise you I’ll cheer up.’
‘That’s a love,’ said Meg comfortably. ‘Do you remember how you told me once that Mr van Beek called you Cinderella—well, even she got her glass slipper in the end, didn’t she?’
Tabitha, washing smalls at the sink, bent her head over her work. She had been trying not to think about Marius, and now here was Meg talking about him again. She said lightly: ‘What a pity life isn’t a fairy story. But since it’s not, if—if I can’t persuade the new owner of Chidlake to rent it to me, would you mind very much if we moved right away from here—it would mean you wouldn’t be near your sister.’
Meg glanced at the clock. ‘Sit down and eat that bit of lunch I’ve got for you,’ she commanded. ‘That’s a good idea, love, to move away—right away, as you said. As for my sister, there’s still the railway, isn’t there, and buses. That’s no problem, but don’t you worry about that until you need to. Never cross your bridges…’
There was a letter, but because of the sudden spate of work Tabitha was unable to open it at once. It was brief and stated merely that Messrs Stubbs, Cripp and Mann begged to inform her that their client would be at Chidlake on the following evening after seven o’clock and was willing to see her. They were glad to be of service and were hers faithfully. She read it through several times, trying to draw hope and encouragement from the dry words. At least she was being given the chance to put her proposition and it seemed like a good omen that she was free the following evening. She would have to plan what she would say, but not until later. Now there was her work. The ward was a heavy one, and for the last week or so it had been getting heavier, culminating in the arrival of Mr Morgan, who, although improving steadily, needed constant care and attention. He had shown great courage and patience and a cheerfulness which defied anyone to pity him, only begging that he should be told should anything go wrong. Marius had gone out of his way to explain exactly what had been done in the theatre, not mentioning that any surgeon might have been justified in amputating, whereas he, by his skill, had saved the leg. It was George Steele, doing a round on his own, who enlightened Mr Morgan as to the extent of the operation. Tabitha, masked and gowned, listened to George’s quiet voice and then her patient singing Marius’s praise in no uncertain fashion, while she took out a drainage tube and put on another dressing to cover Marius’s meticulous stitching.
‘There’s a man for you,’ observed Mr Morgan, ‘sewing me leg back on—like new ’e’ll be. Going around tidying up arms and legs like ’e does. Daresay ’e’s a nice chap too—got a straight eye for all ’e’s not English.’
Tabitha, while agreeing with this sincere praise, said nothing, but enquired if her patient was doing his breathing exercises.
‘Yes, love, I’m doing ’em, though it’s me legs is ’urt; can’t see no reason for it meself, but I’ll do ’em if you says so, Sister. Proper angel you are, you and the nurses.’
Tabitha fixed the last piece of strapping. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Morgan,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Your wife’ll be here in a minute—just in time to have a cup of tea while you have yours.’
She was in the dressing room clearing the trolley when Nurse Betts came in. ‘Sister, Mr van Beek’s in the ward. Shall I finish the trolley for you?’
Tabitha started to roll down her sleeves. ‘Please,’ she spoke with her usual unhurried calm while her heart raced. She would be able to tell him about the letter. She hastened into the ward, giving Mrs Jeffs a speaking glance as she did so, which that lady rightly interpreted as a request for her cuffs to be brought immediately. Ward sisters always wore their cuffs when they did a round with the consultant staff, in the same way as men took their hats off in lifts and everyone curtsied to royalty. It was a kind of tradition that was unquestioned. Marius waited now while Tabitha put hers on, and only when she had donned them did he speak.
‘Good afternoon, Sister. I’ve a list for tomorrow, have I not? Perhaps I might see the patients now.’
She led him to the first one and after a moment he said pleasantly:
‘Don’t bother with me, Sister, I’m sure you have plenty to do. I’ll ask a nurse if I want anything.’
Thus dismissed, Tabitha went to her office, where she sat with the requisition books open before her, lost in thought. She wouldn’t be able to tell Marius about the letter; in those few minutes together she had sensed his withdrawal behind a cool pleasantness of manner which she knew she wouldn’t be able to penetrate. She told herself it was a good thing, for now she could put him out of her mind. She concentrated instead on what she would say the following evening at Chidlake. She was rehearsing a series of speeches calculated to melt a heart of stone when Marius walked in. ‘I’ll do that pelvis tonight,’ he said briskly. ‘May I use the telephone?’
She pushed the instrument across the desk towards him and listened while he talked to Sue, with whom he appeared to be on the friendliest of terms, which made it all the more apparent to her as he gave her his instructions that he had no intention of extending those terms to herself. He was still pleasant, but his manner was guarded and so politely impersonal that nothing would have persuaded her to so much as mention Chidlake.
She listened to his directions without looking at him, because she couldn’t bear to see his face while he talked in that casual, distant voice. He got up to go presently and she went at once into the ward, her face set in a stony calm. She had been unhappy before, but never had she felt quite so desolate as she did now. It was because she had asked him for money and help, of course. She had been a fool—if she hadn’t been so desperate. At least she had got her chance of meeting the new owner of Chidlake, but it had cost her Marius’s good opinion of her. She had thought that he would have understood, and he hadn’t.
She rang for the porters, served the suppers, studied the operation list for the next day so that she could plan the ward work and went down to supper; the case wouldn’t be back until eight o’clock. She sat with the other ward sisters, eating her way through egg and chips and college pudding without having the least idea what was on her plate while she talked with her usual pleasantness to her companions at table. Afterwards she was unable to remember a word of the conversation, but as no one had questioned anything she had said, presumably she had talked sense.
She and Betts were putting traction on the newly returned theatre case when Marius came into the ward, finished it for them, added some more instructions to those he had already given her and then said: ‘A word with you, Sister.’
She accompanied him to the office; perhaps everything was going to be all right again. She stood just inside the door, waiting for him to speak. She was mistaken, for he began in that same coolly casual voice:
‘About Morgan—I see you have quite rightly put him on a half-hourly pulse chart. I’d like that changed to a quarter hourly pulse, please. The slightest sign of it going up and you will be good enough to tell Mr Steele at once. Never mind if it is a false alarm—we don’t want a secondary haemorrhage. Please make this clear to your nurses.’
Tabitha’s voice was so professional it sounded severe. ‘Very well, sir. Did you wish to see anyone else?’
She gave him a quick look and found his eyes intent on her, and the wish to fling herself into his arms and tell him how much she loved him was so strong that she clenched her teeth so that her mouth looked quite forbidding. He said slowly, still staring: ‘No, not at present, thank you. Good night.’
She watched him make his unhurried way down the corridor and then went back into the ward. There was plenty to do still, and as far as she was concerned a very good thing too.
The following day was busy too; only in the afternoon, when the list was finished, did the work slacken. Marius hadn’t been to the ward all day and now it was George Steele who came to check on the operation cases. He wrote up the charts for her and said, ‘I expect that will do—you’re quite happy about Morgan? I’ll pop in later on and have a look at him as Mr van Beek has gone.’
‘Gone?’ Tabitha lifted a suddenly white face to his. ‘You don’t mean left?’
George put a chart on the desk and said without looking at her: ‘No, Tabby. He’ll be here for another week or two while Mr Raynard finds his feet. Didn’t he mention it?’
Tabitha shook her head, not trusting her voice. Presently when he had finished writing, she said: ‘Thanks for writing up the drugs. Staff’s on in a minute. I shall be glad to get off.’
He paused in the doorway. ‘You look done in, Tabby. I should have an early night.’
She agreed mendaciously and summoned a smile as she went.
The flat was empty when she got home; she found a note on the kitchen table in Meg’s square careful handwriting, telling that she had gone to spend an evening with a friend and had taken Podger with her. Tabitha’s supper was in the oven and she was to eat it.
Tabitha read this communication in some surprise; it wasn’t like Meg to go out at a moment’s notice like that, and certainly not to take Podger. She shrugged her shoulders, ignored the oven, made some coffee while she ran the bath and went to put out her clothes. She had already decided what to wear—the green linen with the white bands round the neck and short sleeves; it was pretty and simple and she wanted desperately to make a good impression. She did her face with all the skill she could muster, and ignoring the clock, took time over her hair. Looking at herself when she was at last ready, she was as satisfied as she ever was with her person; her face looked white and her eyes were puffy with secret weeping, but if she stood with her back to the light, he wouldn’t notice. All she had to do was to keep calm and level-headed and put a clear case before him.
She was so late that she had to drive as fast as the little car would go. The evening was already fading and growing cool, but she didn’t notice this, for her mind was racing ahead, exploring every possible chance to get the new owner to see how vital it was to allow her to rent Chidlake. That he might not want to do so was something she refused to consider.
It was getting on for eight o’clock when she turned into the familiar gateway and stopped the car outside the front door. It stood open and when no one came in answer to her ring, she walked in, going instinctively to the small room her father had used as a study, and which, after his death, had hardly been used at all. The door was shut and opened under her eager hand into a room which hadn’t changed over the years. The French window was open and its faded brocade curtains trembled a little in the light breeze. Her father’s desk stood before it with the bookshelves on either wall. There was a small log fire burning briskly with her father’s armchair drawn up beside it. And Marius was sitting in the chair.
She stared at him unbelievingly and when he got up and came towards her she exclaimed a little wildly: ‘I’m late—has he gone? I didn’t expect you would be here too.’ She added breathlessly: ‘The door was open.’
She hadn’t moved and Marius halted in front of her. ‘Yes, Tabitha, I left it open.’ His voice was gentle, as was his smile, and something in his eyes made her cry out: ‘It’s you—you’ve bought Chidlake!’
He took another step towards her so that they were standing very close.
‘Yes, I bought it. You see, I want to keep it in the family.’ Tabitha felt black despair wash over her. She managed in a shaky voice: ‘Lilith?’
‘No, you, my darling heart. I’ve no glass slipper for my Cinderella; perhaps you’ll settle for Chidlake instead.’
She stared at him as though he had run mad. ‘Glass slipper?’ she uttered bemusedly. ‘You mean you really own Chidlake?’
Marius smiled very tenderly at her. ‘No, you do, my darling.’
‘Me?’ her voice was a squeak, and then: ‘You said my darling.’
‘Which you are and have been ever since I first set eyes on you, though I must say you take a lot of convincing.’
She shook her head the better to settle the riotous thoughts which filled it, then forgot them all as he caught her close and kissed her and kissed her again and when she would have spoken, said: ‘No, dearest Tabitha, I’m the one to do the talking, but before I start, will you marry me?’
‘Yes,’ said Tabitha, ‘I will,’ and was whisked off her feet before she could say more. Her father’s chair creaked a little as Marius sat down again, but it had been built stoutly as well as with elegance and its ample proportions were more than sufficient for two. She laid her head against his broad shoulder. ‘There are a great many things I don’t understand,’ she began.
‘My darling, it is all very simple. I had made up my mind to marry you before I met your stepmother and Lilith, and when they told me that they wanted to sell Chidlake, I knew that I must buy it for you. You see, Bill Raynard had already told me about you and how much you loved your home. The Johnsons told much the same story too—my problem was to persuade your stepmother to sell me the house as quickly as possible, and without letting her guess that it was you I loved, for I am convinced that she would have refused to sell Chidlake to me if she had had even an inkling. As it was Lilith played into my hands, she was so sure that she had a middle-aged fool in her net…’
Tabitha lifted her head. ‘Middle-aged?’ she cried indignantly. ‘You’re not! Don’t ever say that again…’
He kissed her. ‘I can see that you are going to be a great comfort to me, my dearest. It was a piece of great good fortune that they decided to follow us to Veere, for it was there I finally persuaded Mrs Crawley to visit my solicitor.’
‘The day we went to Bergen-op-Zoom,’ Tabitha said.
‘Yes—and if you remember I took them to dinner at the hotel—that was when they finally promised…’
‘The evening Mr Bow was suddenly taken poorly and I pretended a headache!’ She sat up once more. ‘I heard you, you know—only I didn’t understand—I thought you were going to propose to Lilith.’
‘And how very mistaken you were, dear love.’ He kissed her again to prove how in error she had been.
‘You could have told me, Marius.’
‘What—and increase the chance of your stepmother and Lilith finding out? I did not dare. But now Chidlake is yours, Tabby.’ He went on: ‘You know that we can’t live here, don’t you, my darling? I have to live in Veere, for that is my home and my work lies mainly in Holland, but we shall be able to come here for holidays and a weekend now and again. Could you be content with that? Meg says she will be glad to live here as housekeeper and Knotty can’t wait to move into the little cottage next to the garage. It will be a wonderful place to send the children.’
Tabitha drew, if that were possible, a little closer to him. ‘I love Veere and I love your home, I can’t believe I’ve got both—I’ll never be able to thank you enough, dearest Marius.’
‘That is an interesting point we’ll take up later.’
‘Couldn’t you have told me when I tried to borrow that money?’
‘Well,’ Marius said reasonably, ‘you rather took the wind out of my sails, my dearest. Before I could put two words together there you were asking me for three hundred thousand pounds.’
He shook with laughter and Tabitha made haste to say: ‘You may well laugh, but I was deadly serious and I hated it.’ She looked up, remembering. ‘Oh, Marius dear. I haven’t made you poor because of me?’
He laughed again. ‘No, Tabby. I am, as Knotty put it, a man of substance—I can well afford it.’
She asked in wonder: ‘How does Meg know?—you said she will live here as housekeeper.’
‘I asked her. When shall we be married?’
Tabitha sat up. ‘I have to give a month’s notice.’
‘Too long. I’ll attend to that in the morning. I’ll see about a special licence too. We’ll be married here in the village and all your friends shall come.’
Tabitha gave a contented sigh and then exclaimed: ‘Goodness, I must go back—I’m on at eight in the morning.’
‘You’re not going back tonight, dearest. Have you forgotten I’m due in tomorrow too? I’ll take you back in the morning. We’re going to have supper now. Meg’s been busy for the last hour.’
‘Meg?’ echoed Tabitha faintly.
‘Of course. I brought her down with me, with Knotty and of course Podger—Hans is here too. Meg had a lovely time getting your own room ready for you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘They’ll be waiting for us, Tabby, our three old friends.’
They paused in the doorway and she looked back from the shelter of his arm at the peaceful little room. They would come here often, she thought happily. ‘Things happen,’ she said obscurely, ‘lovely things, when you don’t think they’re going to.’
Marius appeared to have no difficulty in understanding her. ‘As you happened to me, my darling.’
Tabitha looked all of a sudden quite beautiful; it was surprising what love could do to even the plainest of features. ‘So I did,’ she agreed in some astonishment.