Anne was subdued as her aunt’s carriage carried them the short distance to Lady Mancroft’s house, which was hardly surprising after the peal Aunt Bartrum had rung over her when she returned home from the doctor’s.
‘Anne, whatever has happened to you?’ she had demanded, catching sight of her niece trying to make for the safety of her bedroom without being seen. ‘Have you had an accident?’
‘No, Aunt.’
‘Oh, do not tell me you have been assaulted? Oh, you foolish, foolish girl, to go out alone like that…’
‘Aunt, I have not been assaulted,’ she had reassured her with a crooked smile. Could what had happened be considered an assault? An assault on her senses perhaps, an attack on her emotions, but it was her own fault for allowing it to happen. ‘I could not find a helper for Dr Tremayne and went to tell him so. There were so many patients waiting—’
‘Anne, do you mean to say you actually touched them?’ Her aunt sounded horrified.
‘Some. The children. I felt so sorry for them. There was a little baby, half-starved it was, and a small boy. He was crying and I tried to comfort him. My hair came down.’
‘So I see.’ Her aunt had pressed her lips together in disapproval. ‘What have you tied it back with?’
‘A cravat. Doctor Tremayne lent it to me.’
‘Anne!’ her aunt had gasped, clutching at the jet necklace at her throat. ‘I am in despair. If this gets out, we will not be able to hold our heads up in society again. Your reputation will be in shreds and mine along with it.’
She had continued in like vein for several minutes and Anne, who hated upsetting her, had apologised for her thoughtlessness and promised it would not happen again. ‘Now Professor Harrison has arrived, there will be no need. I left them with their heads together, talking about the new hospital.’
‘I am beginning to wish I had never heard of it. If we had not come to Brighton—’
‘We would never have met Major Mancroft and Captain Gosforth, would we?’ Anne had put in, in an effort to raise her spirits.
‘Whatever will they think?’
‘Why, nothing. There is no reason they should ever learn of it, is there?’
‘I suppose not. Now, do go and change and throw that gown away, it will never clean properly.’
Anne was exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally, but she realised it would be unwise to complain of it and so she had gone up to her room, where the maids were busy filling a bath. Having drunk a reviving cup of tea, she had bathed and dressed in a rose-and-burgundystriped sarcenet and sat for Amelia to put her hair up, and by then she felt more like her old self. Except for the memories, memories of being held in Justin’s arms, of being kissed, the soft touch of his lips on hers and the sensations that had aroused; memories like that would never leave her. And in a very few minutes she had to face him again, and in company, and whatever happened she must not give herself away.
Lady Mancroft’s large ground-floor drawing room was full to bursting, which was gratifying since everyone had paid five guineas to the fund for the privilege of being there. A string quartet played in a corner but no one was listening to the music. It was far more diverting to make one’s way, wineglass in hand, from group to group, exchanging gossip.
Anne made her way between them, keeping close to her aunt as if wanting her protection, which was so unlike her, she was able to smile at herself. Disjointed snatches of conversation came to her ears as they passed on their way to greet their hostess, who was holding court in the far corner of the room. ‘Will he come?’ and further on, ‘He won’t bring his mistress, will he?’
‘Georgiana!’ Her ladyship, being very tall, had caught sight of them above the mêlée and began elbowing her way towards them.
‘What a squeeze it is,’ she said, after Aunt Bartrum had greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. ‘I am sure there are more people here than I invited…’
‘As long as they have all paid, that is to the good, do you not think?’ Anne said. ‘I am pleased to see that so many people are in favour of the hospital.’
‘They are here because they think a very important personage might put in a brief appearance.’
‘No? He never is!’ exclaimed Aunt Bartrum. She looked down at her high-waisted satin gown striped in two shades of grey, obviously regretting its simplicity. ‘If I had known…’
‘Charles took the opportunity of acquainting him with the aims of the association when he was called to attend him,’ their hostess explained. ‘He thought his Highness’s approbation might serve us well. Charles said that an interest was expressed in tonight’s function.’
‘Then we must thank the Major for his thoughtfulness,’ Mrs Bartrum said, looking round the company. ‘But I do not see him.’
‘I believe he is in the card room. We have arranged a few tables for those who like a small wager, but they have to promise to donate a percentage of their winnings.’
‘Then I shall go in search of him,’ Aunt Bartrum said. ‘Anne, do you come with me.’
Anne smiled; her aunt was determined not to let her out of her sight. She need not have worried; the last thing her niece wanted, so she told herself, was a confrontation with Dr Tremayne. She refused to admit, even to herself, that she had been gazing about the room looking for him. Perhaps he would not come. If he and the Professor had become engrossed in talking about medical matters and old times, then they might have decided to forgo the doubtful privilege of fighting their way through the crowd and having to make meaningless conversation.
Major Mancroft was not playing cards because all the places were taken, but he was standing to one side watching the play. As soon as he saw Mrs Bartrum and Anne, he came forward to bow to them. ‘Good evening, ladies. It is good so see you. And looking so elegant too. Mrs Bartrum, that gown becomes you exceedingly.’
‘Why, thank you,’ Aunt Bartrum said, almost preening. ‘But do you not think Miss Hemingford is in looks tonight?’
He turned to smile at Anne. ‘Indeed she is. Two jewels in this packed company.’
‘I believe you have been working on our behalf and we must thank you,’ Mrs Bartrum said, digging her elbow into Anne’s side.
‘To be sure, Major,’ she agreed, endeavouring not to smile at the Major’s clumsy attempts at flattery. ‘We have been overwhelmed by the support given to our project through your good offices.’
‘Oh, it is nothing. I slipped the information about tonight’s occasion into the conversation, that is all. I doubt he will come, but even the rumour of it has swelled our funds, don’t you think?’ And he winked and touched the side of his nose with his finger.
‘Major! That is dishonest,’ Anne said, wondering how well one needed to know the Prince to be able to slip something into a conversation with him.
‘Not at all. He did not say he would not come. If he had, then it would indeed have been a hum.’
‘Where is Captain Gosforth?’ Aunt Bartrum asked. ‘I have not seen him.’
The Major’s expression clouded at the mention of his rival, but it quickly cleared. ‘I expect he is somewhere about. I cannot imagine he would absent himself,’ he said drily. ‘Not when he knows you will be here.’
‘Then we shall go and find him and leave you to your game.’
‘I was not playing,’ he said quickly. ‘Allow me to escort you.’ And he offered his arm.
Aunt Bartrum nimbly skipped out of his way so that he found himself beside Anne. He could hardly turn away and she, smiling at his chagrin, put her fingers on the crook of his elbow to follow her aunt. ‘I am sorry, Major,’ she whispered, as they returned to the drawing room by way of the stairs and the entrance hall. ‘Aunt Bartrum can be very contrary sometimes. Have you spoken to her about your intentions?’
‘Not exactly. I hinted, but she always manages to turn the conversation. She speaks of you and how it is her duty to see you happily married…’
‘Oh, dear. Perhaps it is time you did more than hint.’
‘Oh, do you think so?’ His face lit with hope, making her smile. Whether her aunt would entertain an offer from him she did not know, but it was time something was resolved.
It was at that point Anne saw Professor Harrison and Dr Tremayne come in the front door and her heart skipped a beat. The doctor looked so different from the tired, dishevelled man she had left only a few hours before. Dressed in shades of blue, not quite up to the minute, but very fine for all that, he held himself with the easy assurance of a man used to being waited on, as he handed the footman his hat. No one who did not know the truth would take him for anything other than a gentleman.
He looked across the hall and caught sight of her on the arm of Major Mancroft and his face clouded briefly. Mrs Bartrum had evidently been to work on them, judging by the way Miss Hemingford was hanging on to the Major’s arm and laughing up at him. Surely she would not succumb? He wanted to rush over and tear her away. Instead he bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient.’
‘Doctor Tremayne.’ She inclined her head in formal acknowledgement. Whatever had been between them, if there had ever been anything between them, had gone, been blown away on a contrary wind. The cold emptiness was back in his eyes. She could not bear it and turned away. ‘Professor Harrison, I am pleased to see you have been prevailed upon to join us.’ The smile she turned on him was one of genuine warmth, not lost on Justin.
How could she allow him to kiss her, more than that, actively respond, and then turn to others so readily? Was she a flirt? Did she enjoy teasing? ‘Major, may I present Professor Harrison?’ he heard her say. ‘He is a teacher at Guy’s Hospital. I believe his advice on our project will be of inestimable value.’
‘Then you are welcome, sir,’ Charles acknowledged him with a bow. ‘Do you know Mrs Bartrum?’ He turned to the lady with a smile, which confused Justin even more. What was going on?
‘We are acquainted,’ Aunt Bartrum said, coming forward. ‘How do you do, Professor. Shall we go into the drawing room? I will present to you our hostess. Come, Doctor, do join us.’ And with that she almost dragged the two gentlemen away, leaving Anne with the Major.
‘Oh, dear,’ Anne said. ‘I had hoped to leave you alone with her. Now you will have to find another opportunity.’
‘I shall not find it standing out here. Shall we follow them?’
Anne could hardly say she did not want to be anywhere near Dr Tremayne because that would be a consummate lie. She longed to be near him, to be close, so close she could experience again the tremors, the excitement that coursed through her at his touch. If a touch could do that, if a kiss could make her lose all reason, how would she feel if they went even further? If they… She shivered as her imagination pictured it. How could she, a respectable well brought-up young lady, have such wanton thoughts?
‘Are you cold, Miss Hemingford?’ The Major’s voice was so ordinary, it brought her back to earth with a bump. ‘I could fetch you a shawl.’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Then let us hasten to Mrs Bartrum’s side.’
Aunt Bartrum was in the middle of an animated group of people who were evidently enjoying each other’s company. There was Lord and Lady Mancroft, a little bemused at having to entertain two doctors, even though one was an eminent professor; Mrs Barry, watching over her two chicks like a mother hen; and Captain Gosforth. ‘He would be here,’ the Major muttered.
They were drawn into the group, which had been discussing the impact the interest of the Regent might have on their project. ‘I believe it will have an adverse effect,’ the Captain was saying. ‘He is far from popular.’
‘Only with the proletariat,’ her ladyship put in. ‘Those of us with any pretence of breeding know what a fine man he is.’
‘Fat,’ muttered Justin, who was standing close enough to Anne for her to hear.
She smiled in spite of herself. ‘Fie on you, Doctor, you must not say disparaging things about our future king, especially if he becomes a benefactor.’
‘If he does, then I shall bow and scrape with the best of them, but give me leave to doubt it. His unpopularity with his people is well earned. He spends a fortune on that monstrous building while a large section of his subjects lives in abject poverty.’
‘It is a beautiful building, how can you say it is monstrous?’
‘Huge, like its owner, and just as impractical.’
‘I give you that, but it is employing hundreds of men who would otherwise be out of work.’
He ignored her riposte. ‘Miss Hemingford, I must speak to you.’
‘We are speaking.’
‘I mean alone. There are matters I must put before you.’
‘I do not think that would be wise, sir. You might be tempted to repeat your behaviour of this morning…’
‘My behaviour!’ His whisper was indignant. ‘It takes two, you know, and I do not recollect you protesting.’
‘You took me by surprise.’
He managed a rueful grin. ‘I took myself by surprise. But you are right, an apology is called for and I offer it humbly.’
He did not look particularly humble, she decided, risking a glance at his face; he looked cross. ‘I accept your apology,’ she murmured. ‘We will speak of it no more.’ She turned and smiled brightly at Professor Harrison. ‘What do you think of our project to provide Dr Tremayne with a hospital?’
‘Very commendable and I wish you success with it. If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to say…’
‘If you could recommend one of your pupils as an assistant, that would be of most immediate help, I think. Dr Tremayne is overworked to the point of exhaustion…’
‘I will say when I am exhausted,’ Justin put in sharply. ‘And looking after a handful of ailing civilians is nothing to spending twenty-fours hours without a break in the bowels of a fighting ship in the middle of a battle.’ He regretted his words as soon as he had said them. She looked as though she had been struck. ‘I am sorry. That was uncivil of me. I beg your pardon.’
‘I understand,’ she said quietly. ‘I am a meddlesome female. You are perfectly able to put your own case.’
‘But Miss Hemingford has the right of it,’ George pointed out. ‘You need help if you are not to wear yourself out and then you would be no use to your patients or anyone else. I will be glad to recommend a pupil to assist you, but until he arrives, I will be your assistant.’
‘You?’ Justin almost laughed, then, realising his friend was serious, added, ‘Do you mean it? It’s not the kind of work you are used to.’
‘All the more reason to do it. How can I inculcate the notion of service in my pupils, if I do not practise what I preach? Besides, I am interested in your plans and would like to be involved.’
‘Splendid!’ Anne said, glad the uncomfortable moment with the doctor had passed. ‘I shall not need to go to the consulting rooms again if you are there. To tell the truth, I think I am better employed organising our fundraising activities.’ She looked across at Aunt Bartrum, who seemed visibly relieved at this statement. ‘We are holding a day of horse racing and sport on the Belle Vue Fields next Thursday and a grand charity ball at the Old Castle the following Monday week. We hope by then to have a tidy sum, sufficient for Dr Tremayne to start looking for premises. I do hope you will join in. We could co-opt you on to our committee. What do you think, Lady Mancroft?’
Her ladyship, mollified that Anne had deferred to her as the senior ranking lady present, quickly included the newcomer in the discussion about how the games should be organised and Anne was able to slip away. She needed a quiet moment to compose herself.
She found the room on the first floor, which had been set aside for the ladies to refresh their toilette, and sank into the corner of a chaise longue.
She had fallen into a coil of her own making. From a simple wish to help the poor and ill people of the town, she had progressed to wanting a hospital and that had led to involving others with more influence than she had, and now there was a committee and half the town talking about it. Even the Prince Regent. None of that would have bothered her if it had not been for her personal feelings for the man at the centre of it all.
She was reminded of the snowballs she used to make with Harry at Sutton Park when they were children. The more they rolled them, the bigger they became. For a few minutes she relaxed and allowed her memory to linger. She could see again the hill in the park and Harry and herself, wrapped up in warm coats, mufflers and fur-lined boots, careering down it, pushing the ball of snow until it was bigger than they were. It fell apart at the bottom, shattered into a pile of white powder and they had rolled in it, screaming with laughter. In spite of having lost both parents in a dreadful coaching accident, they had been happy children. They had a home with their grandfather and wanted for nothing, except a little discipline perhaps, and someone warm and soft to cuddle. Fond as she had been of the old man, she would never have dared go so far as to embrace him.
Grandpa. Had she mourned him as she should? Enjoy yourself, he had commanded her from the grave, but her attempts at enjoyment had fallen more flat than she could ever have imagined. There was less joy than anguish. She loved a man of whom her aunt did not approve as a possible husband for her, but that was not the worst of it; that could be overcome. The worst of it was that while Dr Tremayne had kissed her and set her limbs on fire with longing, he had spoken no words of love, had regretted it with an apology, while at the same time suggesting it was all her fault. And at the back of her mind was the memory of him kissing his sister-in-law. How could she have been such a ninny?
What would Harry make of it? She had always been close to her twin, able to tell him everything. Perhaps if she went home… But how could she, when she had been the instigator of the fund raising and so much depended on it? The hospital was a necessity if poor children like those she had seen that morning were to be helped. Her thoughts went round and round, while she tried to lose herself deeper into the sofa.
She sat up with a jerk as Mrs Tremayne glided into the room and went over to the dressing table to look in the mirror. Believing herself alone, she turned her head this way and that, touched her finger to her fair hair and smiled to herself. Suddenly catching sight of Anne in the reflection of the room behind her, she whirled round. ‘Why, Miss Hemingford, I did not see you at first. Why are you hiding?’
‘I am not hiding, Mrs Tremayne, I am resting.’
‘Too much for you, is it? All this attention.’
‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘Everybody rallying round you to help open a hospital. It is a vast undertaking and one requiring a great deal of money and—what shall we say?—aplomb. I think you have bitten off more than you can swallow, my dear.’
‘Oh, that! It is a little tiring, but it is a good cause and I assure you I am perfectly able to swallow whatever I chew.’
‘It will never come to fruition, certainly not with Justin at the centre of it.’ She took a step towards Anne to stand over her, meaning, Anne was sure, to intimidate her.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he is only playing at being a doctor. He has these fancies, you know, but they do not last. First he must go to sea and not even as a fighting man, but a surgeon, and then he must travel, and then he suddenly decided he would like to live in a slum and experience poverty at first hand. It is all a gull, he is not poor, or anything like it, and the whim will pass just as all the others have.’
‘You mean he is not a proper doctor?’ The question was forced from her.
Sophie’s laughter peeled out. ‘It depends what you mean by proper. His behaviour is most improper, but if you mean has he qualified, then I believe he has. But that is nothing to the point; studying medicine was another of his fancies. The developers will pull his house down and he will realise how foolish he has been and return home where he belongs.’
Anne was relieved to hear that the doctor had not been duping people about his qualifications. As for improper behaviour; her cheeks burned at the memory. How much did this woman know? Had the doctor confided in her? She pulled herself together to answer coolly, ‘There is nothing reprehensible in wanting to help those who are not in a position to help themselves. I am sure Dr Tremayne is sincere in that.’
Unable to intimidate her, Sophie sank on to the sofa beside her and tried a different tactic. ‘Of course he is sincere,’ she confided. ‘That is half the trouble. He really believes what he is doing at the time. It is only when the project, whatever it is, palls and he is off again that the dear people he has involved in it realise his capricious nature. Believe me, it will happen again and you will be left high and dry.’
‘I am sure you are wrong.’
‘My dear, I have known him for a long time.’ She gave a light laugh. ‘If you have been taken in by him, I do most sincerely caution you. It would not do, you know. I do not know how deep your pockets are, but wealth alone is not enough. He would never marry beneath him.’
Anne was so furious she jumped to her feet. ‘Just how far beneath him do you suppose me to be?’
‘I am sure I do not know, but if you can grub around at those filthy consulting rooms of his, you cannot be far up the social scale.’
Anne began to laugh and sat down again, hugging her arms round her in her mirth, until the tears came to her eyes. There was something frenetic about it.
‘Why are you laughing? I was not jesting.’
She was about to enlighten her tormentor, but then decided to not to do so. It would be a diversion to play along with her and see how she reacted when she finally learned the truth. ‘Oh, no reason,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘The idea of a man choosing to live in poverty when he does not need to, I suppose. That’s doing it too brown.’
‘As I said, he has these notions. He may fancy acting the philanthropist, but you note he is not using his own blunt.’
‘But he has done so and spent it all.’
‘Gammon!’
Anne did not know what to believe. There had always been a mystery surrounding the doctor, even her aunt had said so, which might have been why she was against him. But she did not want to believe that he had deliberately misled people, that he was a fraudster. Surely she would have known, would have detected it in his manner? She found herself thinking about his manner. When he was not kissing her, melting her limbs until they were liquid with desire, he had a gentle and caring manner and there was no doubt the poor people he treated held him in the highest regard. Surely they could not all be wrong?
‘I shall bring him to his senses,’ Sophie said, sensing her uncertainty. ‘He will come home with me to Sevenelms where he belongs, so I suggest you retrench before you are hurt. Do not encourage him in his folly.’
Anne did not answer; her tears of laughter had dried on her cheeks and made her skin feel taut. She no longer felt like laughing. There was so much to think about. Was Dr Tremayne really wealthy? Did he come from a notable family? Aunt Bartrum had certainly said she thought he was higher in the social scale than he pretended, but why would anyone do that? And where was Sevenelms? Was it a village? An estate? Or simply the name of a house? If she had been duped, then so had all the good people of Brighton who had subscribed to the hospital project. And she had been instrumental in bringing that about! How mortifying that would be, not only for her but Aunt Bartrum and Harry too, if it all turned out to be a hum.
She was roused from her reverie by Sophie’s soft laugh. ‘Give up, my dear. A nobody of a do-gooder has no hope of capturing him.’ She stopped speaking as the Barry girls came into the room, laughing at a joke one of the lieutenants had made.
Anne rose and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.
Back in the crowded drawing room she found her aunt in conversation with Captain Gosforth. Mrs Bartrum was laughing like a schoolgirl, her cheeks a little pink. She turned when she saw Anne. ‘There you are, my dear, we have been wondering what had become of you. There is to be music and the Captain is endeavouring to persuade me to sing, but I fear I am not up to standard for a public performance…’
‘Of course you are, Aunt, you have a beautiful singing voice.’
‘There, what did I tell you?’ Walter put in. ‘I will be happy to accompany you.’ He smiled and bent his head lower and Anne caught his whisper. ‘Not only tonight, but always…’
So he had declared himself at last. Her aunt, whose pink cheeks became even rosier, tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Captain, you go too far.’
‘I beg you to forgive me. Impatience, don’t you know.’
Her aunt was prevailed upon to entertain the company and then others were persuaded to sing or play and all the time Anne looked about her for Dr Tremayne, determined to face him out with Mrs Tremayne’s accusations. But he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is Dr Tremayne?’ she asked the Major, as the recital came to an end amid generous applause.
‘He was called away. Urgent, he said.’
‘Oh.’ Their confrontation would have to wait. But she was determined it would not wait too long.
The party broke up at midnight with everyone promising to attend the races. Anne, still unsure of whether to believe Mrs Tremayne, was tempted to confide in her aunt as they were carried home in the carriage, but decided against it. Until she was sure, she would say nothing.
‘Do you know, that foolish man has misunderstood,’ her aunt said.
‘Foolish man?’ she queried, still thinking of the doctor. ‘What has he misunderstood?’
‘That I am only in Brighton for your sake. He appears to think that, being a widow, I am in want of a husband…’
‘Oh, you mean the Major.’
‘No, I do not,’ she said sharply. ‘I mean Captain Gosforth. He has been talking the most arrant nonsense and will not believe that I have been trying to promote you. It is all very vexing…’
‘Is it, Aunt? I should have thought you would be pleased…’
‘How can I be pleased when I have failed you so badly?’
‘But you have not failed me. I told you from the start I was not thinking of marriage; if you turn him away on my account, I shall be the one who is vexed.’
‘We had to fall back on the Captain after you told me the Major was already spoken for,’ she went on, ignoring Anne’s protests. ‘Though who it can be I do not know. I have not noticed him paying particular attention to anyone else. I believe you may be mistaken in that and he simply said that to encourage you…’
Anne was glad of the darkness of the coach to conceal her smile. Not for the world would she hurt her aunt by making fun of her. ‘If that is so, then I am afraid he will be disappointed. He is an amiable man, but not for me.’
‘Oh, Anne, you are not still wearing the willow for Dr Tremayne, are you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Anne said quickly, too quickly to convince her aunt. ‘And I wish you would not prose on about him.’
‘Anne, I have been hearing rumours…’
Anne’s breath caught in her throat and her voice was husky. ‘What rumours?’
‘That he was once engaged…’
‘So?’
‘I believe he was the one to break it off.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘The Major. He had it from Captain Smollett and one must suppose that the Captain learned it from Mrs Tremayne, so it must be true.’ She paused while Anne digested this information. ‘I was right about his rank. He is the second son of Viscount Rockbourne.’
For the second time that night, Anne’s laughter was almost hysterical. ‘First he is looked down upon as inferior; then, when we discover he is a man of substance after all, he is still not acceptable in society because he has done something so dishonourable as to renege on a betrothal,’ she spluttered. ‘Do you not find that amusing?’
‘Betrayal is never amusing, dearest,’ her aunt said, putting a hand on her arm to calm her.
‘No, Aunt, but I am not at all sure we should believe everything Mrs Tremayne says.’ She spoke firmly, but the doubts were there in her mind and would not go away.
‘What has she to gain by spreading a story like that if it is not true?’
‘I do not know, but there is something havey-cavey…’
‘Of course there is, he is trying to hide his shame.’
‘He does not behave like a man with a shameful past. He is far too arrogant for that.’
‘The trouble is that you do not want to believe it.’
Silently Anne agreed, but they had stopped outside the house and the coachman was opening the door and letting down the step, bringing an end to the conversation. Not wanting to renew it after they entered the house, Anne said goodnight to her aunt and made her way to her bed, where she lay going over every word of what Mrs Tremayne had said, mulling it over, wondering if she could possibly have misunderstood. There was only one way to find out and that was to confront Dr Tremayne and insist that he tell her. But why would he? Why would he admit to what, among the haut monde, amounted to a crime? Was that why he had turned his back on society to work among the poor?
She slept at last, but her sleep was disturbed by nightmares. Something grey and slimy was crawling all over her and though she tried to run from it, it followed her as she ran across the strand into the sea. She was swimming, using all her strength to escape, but although she was thrashing out with her legs, she could make no headway and the monster, which seemed to be at home in the sea, was gaining on her, swamping her and she could not throw it off.
Anne woke in a cold sweat to find all the bedclothes in a tangled heap and her pillow on the floor. A golden rapier of sunshine had found its way between the folds of the curtains and was shining on the wall beside her bed.
She smiled ruefully and left the tangled sheets to go and draw the curtains. The sky was streaked with pink and mauve around the rising sun and the sea glittered sharp as a diamond, smooth as silk. Instead of rousing Amelia, who never liked to rise early, she dressed in a blue spotted muslin gown, slipped a silk shawl about her shoulders and, after leaving a note telling her aunt that she had gone for a dip, she crept from the house, making for the beach.
Mrs Smith was beside her bathing machine, mending one of the brown cotton gowns she provided for her bathers. Anne greeted her and asked after Tildy before paying her money and climbing into the little hut to change. Five minutes later, she had ducked under the sheltering hood and was swimming strongly out to sea. Deliberately she turned and made for the little cove beneath the cliffs from which she knew Dr Tremayne bathed.
There was no one about. She waded ashore and looked about her. The sand was firm and pale, without the blemish of a footmark. No one had been there since the last high tide. She sat down on a rock to wait.
Half an hour passed and no one came. Her disappointment was almost tangible. She told herself firmly that it was only because she was anxious to clear the air, to learn the truth in order that the hospital project could go ahead unsullied by gossip. It had, she upbraided herself, nothing to do with her personal feelings. She rose and paced the sand, wondering whether to return to the bathing machine, glancing upwards to see if anyone was coming down the path from the top of the cliffs. It remained deserted. At the top she could see a building, its windows reflecting the light from sun and sea and she wondered what it was. Suddenly making up her mind, she scrambled up the path towards it.
It was a large house, empty and deserted. Weeds choked the path to the door and the uncurtained windows were festooned with cobwebs. She went closer and, shielding her face with both hands, peered inside one of the downstairs rooms. There was no furniture, except for a table, a cupboard and a few broken chairs but, though everywhere was thick with dust, the room was light and spacious. Excitement mounting, she ran round to the other side, which fronted on to a narrow lane. There was an oak front door with a tarnished knocker and more weeds growing in the drive. She stood back and looked upwards. It had two solid brick storeys and a row of dormer windows to the attics above those. It was obvious it had not been lived in for years. Why did not bother her, but here was their hospital.
Impatient to find out who the owner was and whether it was for sale or lease, she ran back to the cliff path and skittered down its steep incline to the beach. She was not looking where she was going or she might have stopped herself, but her own momentum carried her down and straight into the arms of Justin making his way up the path. He put out his hands to hold her steady and stop her bowling him over. The suddenness of his appearance took her breath away and for a moment she could do nothing but stand facing him, her breast heaving.
He had just emerged from the sea and was wearing nothing but skin-tight knee smalls. She watched mesmerised as the water ran off his muscular shoulders in little droplets, coursing through the fine hairs on his chest. She felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and stop one on its way with her finger, might even have succumbed if he had not been holding her at arm’s length. ‘Oh,’ she said, shifting her gaze upwards to his face. ‘I…’ She stopped, unable to think of a single thing to say which did not sound mundane and utterly out of keeping with the moment.
‘Anne…’ His voice was hoarse as he looked down at her. The cheap cotton garment she wore was clinging to the curves of her body like a second skin, except that it did not cover her white throat and only just concealed the pink mounds of her breasts. He released his grip on her arms to reach out to touch the edge of it. She held her breath, waiting for him to push it down off her shoulders, wanting him to do it, to expose her breasts to his gaze. There was nothing in her head except a throbbing desire to meld herself with this man, to become one with him. She waited for him to fling her down on the sand and tear the damp garment from her trembling body, knowing she would do nothing to resist. But he did nothing of the sort. Instead he gave her a rueful smile and slowly lifted it back on to her shoulder. ‘You will catch cold.’
She was shivering, but not with cold. She was on fire with the heat of her passion, a passion she felt sure he had shared until that moment. And now the ardour was gone leaving her raging with disappointment, desire unfulfilled. She felt the tears well in her eyes and blinked rapidly. ‘I am not cold.’
He did not know how he kept his hands off her. She was so desirable, every contour of her body revealed beneath the wet costume, inviting him to explore. Her amber eyes, dilated and shining, drew him in, until he was floundering and it took a monumental effort of will to resist her, to break the spell and turn from her so that she would not see how his own body betrayed him. Did she not know what she was doing to him? His voice, when he spoke, was harsh, denying his weakness. ‘What are you doing here?
‘I came looking for you.’
‘Why?’
She had come to confront him, to quiz him about his broken engagement, to ask him why he had not told her he was the son of a viscount and why he had kissed his sister-in-law in that intimate way, but the accusations died in her throat. She simply did not care. He had stepped back from the brink, but that did not mean he was not affected and there would be other times. She smiled suddenly. ‘I have been exploring that house.’ She pointed upwards. ‘It will make a perfect hospital…’
‘Oh.’ It was his turn to be disappointed. ‘Did you know about it? Before you swam out here, I mean. Is that why you came?’
‘No, I was taking a dip and saw the cove and decided to come ashore to rest before returning. If you use this path often, you must have passed the house many times. I am surprised you have not considered it before.’
He wondered how she knew he used the path and if she had deliberately come ashore to meet him. If he had not decided to curtail his swim, he might have missed her. He felt the hand of fate moving his affairs and was not sure he liked it. ‘The idea of a hospital was nothing but a dream until you came.’ He paused. ‘Do you make dreams come true, Miss Hemingford?’
‘You called me Anne just now.’
‘Did I? A slip. I apologise.’
‘No, don’t do that, it means you are sorry for it. You are not sorry, are you?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Then when we are alone, I am Anne. And you are…?’
‘Justin. My name is Justin.’
‘It suits you. Do come and look at the house with me.’ She held out her hand and he took it and together they climbed up to the house and walked all round it. Her hand was in his the whole time, warm and comfortable and a perfect fit. He released it to try the door and both were surprised when it opened. ‘Oh, do let’s look round,’ she said, dancing inside, her bare feet making footprints in the dust.
He followed as she skipped from room to room, exclaiming at each new find. ‘The big room downstairs, and the one beside it, will make the reception areas,’ she said. ‘And that parlour at the back, looking out on the gardens, can be your private sitting room. The kitchens are dismal and filthy, but that can soon be remedied.’ He listened without comment, marvelling at her enthusiasm, loving her with an ache in his heart that threatened to overturn his resolve.
When they had been over the whole of the ground floor, she insisted on climbing the stairs in spite of the fact that some of the wooden treads were rotting. Fearful for her safety, he took her hand again. They went from room to room and finally stood looking out over the sea from one of the upstair windows. ‘Oh, it is perfect,’ she said, turning to him and laughing with an exultant joy that was only marginally caused by the discovery of the house. ‘Do you not think so?’
‘It will need a great deal of work.’ He had to keep his mind on the idea of the hospital or he would lose all control. ‘Some of the wood is rotting, half the windows are broken and I noticed some tiles missing from the roof.’
‘Such small matters are easily overcome. Tell me, can you not see it, clean and scrubbed and these rooms lined with beds? They have such wonderful views, they will aid the patients’ recovery, do you not think? And the staff can be housed in the attic rooms.’ She turned to him, glowing with enthusiasm. ‘What do you say?’
He smiled. ‘Yes, if the fund can afford it.’
‘Oh, I knew you would agree.’ And she flung her arms about his neck and kissed his cheek.
He raised his hands to hold her, changed his mind, then changed it again, wrapping his arms about her, not wanting to let go, amused by her exuberance, wishing it might always be so. He wanted to speak to her privately, to tell her about Sophie, perhaps even tell her how he felt about her, but suddenly he felt tongue-tied. Telling her would spoil the moment. He did not want to bring the sordid world of reality into the fantasy world they had created here in this empty, echoing house.
She dreamed of a hospital and it was his dream too, but added to that was another, which meant she would be at his side always, his wife and helpmate. But that would mean denying her the social intercourse of her equals, subjecting her to the life of service he had chosen and how could he ask that of her? If he was to have his hospital, to do the work he had set for himself, he could not have her. He lowered his head to brush the top of her head with his lips. ‘We cannot do anything about it until we have discovered who owns it and if it is for sale.’
‘Then let us do that at once.’
He looked down at her and grinned. ‘Can you imagine the faces of the tabbies, if we go into town dressed as we are? They will all have apoplexy.’
Her laughter pealed out. ‘And you will tell them it is because their corsets are laced too tight.’
‘Oh, dear, I am not forgiven for that, am I?’
‘Of course you are. Aunt Bartrum said you were right.’
‘Did she? The lady goes up in my esteem.’ He paused, not wanting to part from her, but knowing the idyll had to end. He had left George Harrison dealing with the early arrivals with the help of a nurse he had hired, but he could not allow him to shoulder the burden all day or his friend would regret promising his help. ‘Come, I will see you safely back to the bathing machine before you are reported drowned. And then I must return to my patients.’
‘Oh.’ She was suddenly seized by guilt. She had been gone hours; Mrs Smith would be worried, might even have alerted her aunt. ‘I must go at once.’ And she tore down the stairs, out of the house and down the cliff path with him at her heels. They both waded out and dived in as soon as the water was deep enough to swim. It seemed a great deal colder than it had on the outward journey and though it only took a few minutes, she was shivering uncontrollably by the time they reached the spot opposite the bathing machines.
He stopped and moved closer to her, reaching out to take her hand. ‘I shall horrify all the patrons if I emerge here, so I will go back the way I came. Make sure you have a warm bath and a hot drink as soon as you arrive home.’
She smiled as he raised her wet hand to his lips. It was the smile of a conspirator. ‘I think I will not tell of our meeting. I found the house and I will make enquiries about it and bring the matter up at the next meeting of the committee.’
‘And I shall be surprised and delighted.’ He turned and swam back the way they had come while she waded out to the bathing machine where Mrs Smith was still placidly plying her needle on the top step. ‘I am sorry I was so long,’ she said, clambering up into the vehicle. ‘I hope you were not concerned for me.’
‘Oh, no, Miss Hemingford, I saw you leave the water up by the cove, I knew you hadn’t drowned.’ Her smile was so broad, Anne knew she had also seen Dr Tremayne. ‘But if you don’t want to catch a chill, you must let me give you a brisk rub down to warm you before you dress.’
Anne laughed aloud. ‘Mrs Smith, I am not a horse.’
But she succumbed to the ministrations and when her body was pink and glowing, she dressed and strode home, optimism in every step. She had not said a word to him about the rumours, but they did not seem to matter. She loved him and she meant to have him and no one, certainly not Mrs Tremayne, would stand in her way. Together they would set up a hospital that would be a byword for excellence. If she could make his dream come true, she would be happy. She refused to acknowledge that there might be storm clouds ahead.