The Dutch Uncle Page 2

  Tessa frowned. Surely he didn’t need that hoary gambit. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it! Aren’t you the little girl who used to tear through Marchfield—you had a great lolloping spaniel pup? It was you ! I used to watch you from the office window and envy you on sunny days.’ Without waiting for Tessa’s confirmation of his statement, he went on:

  ‘You’ll find Marchfield little changed—still half dead. There’s tennis and boating, if you like that sort of thing,’ he said disparagingly. ‘We’ll have to fix up a date.’ He waited expectantly.

  Tessa hesitated. ‘I’m not sure until I get—whether Nich—’

  ‘Good grief! You’re not going to traipse around with Nick? He’s been like a bear with a sore head ever since—’

  Angie loomed before them and whispered:

  ‘Darling, ask Bertha if that was the last bottle of Martini And get rid of this.’ She thrust an overflowing ashtray into Tessa’s hand.

  With a murmured apology to Dennis, Tessa got up obediently.

  He watched her retreating back with interest. With some of the shyness rubbed off she’d be a refreshing change from his present circle of feminine acquaintances. That dewy youthful innocence could grow on one; it might also cause some rather unexpected reactions in a certain quarter, he reflected, smiling cynically to himself at the memory of a conversation the previous evening with a certain friend. Yes, it promised to be rather an interesting set-up. Dennis brightened, and made a mental note to make an early call at Meads...

  Meanwhile, Tessa had put on an apron and gone to help a weary, irritable Bertha. The party was breaking up now. ‘And not before time,’ muttered Bertha after a glance at the clock. Angie, still as fresh and vital as she had been at the beginning, was bidding her guests goodnight.

  Tessa polished the last glass and went to her room, suddenly conscious of weariness. She sat on her bed and listened to the sounds of departure and the staccato slamming of the front door. Then at last there was silence. They’d all gone. Now she could have it out with her mother.

  Angie had gone into the next room. Tessa could hear her moving about, singing snatches of the lilting theme song from the show. The sweet voice stopped, then a moment later Tessa’s door opened and Angie looked in.

  ‘Bless you for helping, darling,’ she said in her usual extravagant way. ‘I’m afraid I’ve kept Bertha on the hop these last few days.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘Night, darling.’

  ‘Just a moment, Mother.’

  Angie entered reluctantly. She had long since weaned her daughter from the more usual form of family address. When Tessa became conventional in this respect it usually presaged a clash of wills.

  ‘Whose idea was it? Not Nicholas’s, I’ll bet.’

  ‘Oh.’ Angie summoned a smile. ‘Going to Meads, you mean?’

  ‘What else? You went to Nicholas and asked him outright to have me, didn’t you?’ Tessa cried furiously.

  ‘It seemed the best solution. What else could I do at such short notice?’

  ‘Talked it over with me first,’ Tessa flared. ‘What about my art classes?’

  ‘Darling, there’s no hurry for those.’

  Tessa ignored the note of hurt protest in her mother’s voice. ‘I could have stayed here and saved all that fuss. But no, you pack me off to Meads like an erring child that can’t be trusted.’

  Angie changed her approach. ‘Of course I trust you. It’s just that I feel you’re too young to be left on your own in the flat. Goodness knows who you might pick up with.’

  Tessa looked away. ‘Whatever must Nicholas be thinking?’ Her mouth tightened. ‘It’s a sheer imposition. We’ve always imposed on him.’

  Angie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Naturally you won’t expect Nicholas to amuse you. You’re not a child now.’

  Tessa gave a despairing gesture. Angie and her blithe contradictions! Short of rebellion, and the inevitable rupture it would bring, it seemed that she was committed to Meads whether she liked it or not. She asked, ‘How am I supposed to occupy my time?’

  Angie was fast losing patience. ‘You’ll make yourself useful to Florence Reyne for a start, and accept the circumstances with a better grace than you have so far. And remember this’—she produced her trump card—‘your father would have wished it this way.’ She paused, waiting for this to sink in, then after a murmured goodnight closed the door with unwonted sharpness.

  As the days went by without a sign of Nicholas, Tessa’s uneasiness increased. If only she could have seen him before the day of Angie’s departure; when there was still time to draw back. But it seemed there was to be no opportunity of tentatively estimating his reaction to an enforced period of guardianship. For that was what it amounted to, thought Tessa unhappily. However, she had little time to brood.

  Angie whirled her round London on a gay shopping spree. Privately, Tessa considered she was unlikely to wear half the clothes her mother insisted on buying for her. Nevertheless, the feminine joy of trying on dresses and choosing exquisite frothy undies lightened her spirits. London simmered in a July heat wave, and she found she was actually looking forward to the cool green peace of the Buckinghamshire countryside.

  Nicholas was to drive them to the airport, and then take Tessa to Meads directly afterwards.

  She stood by the window, a light jacket over her arm, and wished the next hour were over. Bertha bustled through the flat on a final inspection of locks and fastenings, while Angie, perched on the arm of a dust-sheeted chair, flipped through the pages of a glossy periodical.

  ‘They’ve given me a gorgeous write-up in here,’ she remarked, and Tessa moved to her side to look over her shoulder. But her attention was arrested by the photograph on the opposite page.

  She stared at the beautiful face, then at the pleasant features of a young man. There was a caption below the photograph. She leaned forward to read it.

  Lovely Christine Brysedale, recently returned from Paris where she has been modelling for a leading fashion house, escorted at Wimbledon by Mr. Robert Gleadon.

  So she has another sucker in tow, thought Tessa, in the kind of jargon that was frowned on at Friars’ Dene. But she was conscious of an inexplicable sense of relief that it hadn’t been Nicholas in the photograph.

  Angie looked up. ‘Have you got your bank book and a key to the flat in case you need anything?’

  Tessa nodded.

  ‘Mr. Maythorne’s here,’ called Bertha from the hall.

  ‘Coming.’ Angie picked up her handbag and moved to the door. Tessa followed more slowly, aware of a tremor of excitement. The front door stood open and a sudden gust of wind swept through the hall and slammed the door behind her with a crash. Tessa jumped, then moved forward, to be brought to an abrupt halt. She half turned, then realized that a fold of her billowing skirt was now firmly trapped in the door. Encumbered by a jacket, handbag, and gloves, she twisted awkwardly, afraid of tearing the material, and groped towards the handle. A shadow darkened the hall and a hand reached over her shoulder.

  ‘Keep still.’

  She obeyed, her gaze travelling up the charcoal-grey lapel and white shirt to the amused mouth and grey eves above her.

  ‘Still the same Tessa,’ said Nicholas. ‘I never knew such a child for getting entangled in everything.’

  Scarlet colour flooded her cheeks. ‘It slammed on me,’ she began indignantly. ‘I couldn’t—’

  ‘You’ve dropped your gloves. Come on, Tessa, we’re late as it is.’

  Her possessions were handed to her and she found herself being chivvied out to the car with the blend of indulgence and amused impatience she remembered so well from the past. She was almost glad to find that Angie had already settled herself in the front seat. Tessa climbed into the cool dimness of the back and sat beside Bertha, waiting for her flushed face to cool.

  At the airport they were joined by Angie’s agent, and several personalities from the cast who were travelling with the party. Tessa hovered on the fringe of the chattering group, knowin
g that in all but physical presence her mother had already gone. Angie was being drawn away, and Tessa turned uncertainly to find Nicholas at her side.

  ‘There’s the flight number—better say goodbye now.’ He took her arm and thrust through the group.

  She grasped Angie’s hand and whispered, ‘Goodbye, and good luck.’

  Cameras clicked, capturing Angie’s brilliant smile as she hugged her daughter and then stood back, retaining Tessa’s hands within her own. This was technique, and Tessa drew away, unable to repress a feeling of distaste. She turned to Nicholas, who seemed to divine her thoughts. He said:

  ‘Unless you want to drag it out until the plane is a speck in the sky, I suggest we leave immediately.’ He moved away, and with a last rather forlorn wave, which Angie failed to see, Tessa hurried after him.

  He spoke rarely during the journey, and she was content to watch the countryside flash by while she endeavoured to read just herself in preparation for the coming months. Occasionally she ventured an unobtrusive glance at the intent profile beside her. There was trace of strain in the set line of his mouth, and a suggestion of disillusion in the grey eyes. Nor could she recall sensing in the past the air of remoteness he now bore. He slowed at the approach to High Wycombe. ‘Like a coffee? Or would you prefer to go straight on?’

  ‘I’d like some coffee,’ she said, a little unsure of him. ‘If you don’t mind breaking the journey.’

  He eased the car into the first parking place he saw and they walked the short distance to the cafe in silence. The cool shadowy interior was restful after the glare outside. When the waitress brought their order Tessa looked up to find Nicholas regarding her thoughtfully. She waited until the girl had moved away, then she took a deep breath and said tremulously:

  ‘It wasn’t my idea to invite myself to Meads.’

  He frowned. ‘I hope you aren’t going to be difficult, Tessa. I’ve always been under the impression that you regarded Meads as your second home. So why all the fuss this time?’

  So Angie had dropped another clanger! Tessa’s mouth tightened and she began to regret her attempt to clarify the situation. Aware of his impatient glance, she said uncomfortably, ‘I’ve always appreciated that about Meads—and you. But I’ve never wished you to think that I took everything for granted.’

  ‘Oh, Tessa, you seem to have collected a lot of silly notions about pride which you never had as a child.’ He smiled unwillingly. ‘However, I’m afraid you’ll have to forget them and make the best of the situation. We can’t alter things now.’

  Her mouth quivered. ‘I’m not proud. And please don’t think I’m either difficult or ungrateful. It’s just—oh, I can’t explain—’ she broke off, unable to explain her misgivings, or put into words the confliction of longing and reluctance to resume the old friendly, easygoing relationship with him.

  I’ve grown away from him, she thought unhappily. I can’t talk to him any more. It was different when I was a child. He liked me then, and he was sorry for me because of Daddy. But the years have changed our perspectives; brought Nicholas to maturity. A man of thirty-two doesn’t want to be encumbered with the care of a teenager. Why did I let Angie go ahead with this mistaken arrangement? Her thoughts chased round in despairing circles, seeking a solution she knew did not exist.

  ‘Finish your coffee. It’s time we were on our way.’

  His voice recalled her, and obediently she drained the cooling liquid, suddenly wanting the journey to be over and hoping that at Meads some of the painful restraint would dissolve.

  The car breasted a gradient and Nicholas slowed on the crest, braking to a standstill. He pointed ahead, to the left of the winding ribbon of road, and said quietly:

  ‘Remember it?’

  The old house lay peacefully in the sun. Its mellowed walls were dappled with shade from the beeches, and a myriad sparkles reflected from the mullioned windows. Behind it a vivid panorama stretched up to the hills; a bright contrast of verdant turf and chalk scars broken here and there by dark patches of copse! One end of the house appeared almost to nestle into the edge of the beech wood, and the roof had assumed the tint of old rose. The scent of thyme and honeysuckle filled the air, and everywhere lay the profusion of summer’s bounty.

  ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.’ Tessa gazed at the scene for long moments, and felt the old remembered magic of the house reaching out to enchant, her.

  ‘The driving can be wearisome—particularly in winter,’ Nicholas remarked in a prosaic tone, resting his arm on the top of the steering wheel. ‘But it’s worth it to reach this serenity each evening.’ He started the car and drove on leisurely.

  Mrs. Reyne was waiting for them in the porch when the car rounded the bend at the top of the drive. Officially she was housekeeper, in actuality she was a distant relative who had come to nurse Mrs. Maythorne during her illness. After Mrs. Maythorne’s death she had remained at Nicholas’s request and taken over the running of Meads.

  ‘I see we have visitors,’ Nicholas commented, unloading Tessa’s cases out of the car.

  She had hardly noticed the small white sports car standing on the gravel forecourt as she hurried to greet Florence Reyne. The excited greetings over, she was aware of an impatience to enter the house wherein she had spent so many happy times. It was exactly as she remembered: beautiful old panelling and glowing copper on polished surfaces, mellowed timber blending with pastel hues, hollow hardness underfoot, and the mingled fragrances of lavender and beeswax.

  Muted voices from a room on her right broke in on her musing. Suddenly the door opened.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous—she’s only a schoolgirl. Oh!’ The unseen speaker emerged. ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t—’ Her voice tracing away, the tall willowy girl stopped in the doorway, her red lips parted, and a shaft of sunlight glinting on her raven hair. ‘You must be Tessa.’ There was no smile of recognition on her aloof features.

  Tessa regained her composure. ‘We did meet once—a long time ago.’ She became aware of a second figure standing behind Christine and was surprised to recognize Dennis Gerard.

  Suddenly Christine brushed past Tessa.

  ‘Nicholas! How wonderful to see you again.’ She smiled, holding out her hands. ‘Do forgive me for bursting in on you, but Dennis and I need your advice. We promise not to keep you too long.’

  Tessa watched from the background. She thought she detected a shadow of annoyance in his eyes, but decided she had imagined it as he greeted Christine and, slowly released her hands.

  Christine lowered her voice. ‘It’s all rather confidential at the moment.’ She paused, and her sidelong glance immediately achieved its calculated effect on Tessa, causing her to turn away uncomfortably.

  Nicholas opened the study door. ‘Wait for me in here. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ A trace of irritation edged his voice as he looked at Tessa. ‘Florence will show you up to your room. Leave your cases. I’ll bring them up later.’

  Conscious of Christine’s hostile eyes, Tessa followed the older woman up the wide staircase.

  ‘Here you are,’ Florence smiled. ‘I expect you’ll remember that the bathroom is the second door on the left if you want to freshen up a bit.’ Florence hovered in the doorway. ‘Now if there’s anything you want, don’t be afraid to ask. It’s going to be lovely having young company around. Though I hope you’re not going to feel too cut off from your friends. You’ve just left school, haven’t you?’ she asked doubtfully.

  Impulsively Tessa hugged her. ‘You’ve made me feel at home already,’ she smiled. ‘If I’m lonely you’ll just have to find me some work to do. I’m not here to be waited on, you know.’

  ‘You can put that out of your head,’ the motherly woman responded. ‘You deserve a bit of a holiday after being diddled out of Italy. I’ll leave you now. Lunch will be ready in about half an hour. Just come down when you’re ready. And don’t worry about them,’ she added after a perceptive glance at Tessa’s uncertain expression.


  It didn’t appear that Mrs. Reyne held any affectionate regard for Christine and Dennis, thought Tessa, sitting on the bed and looking round the airy, pleasant room.

  There were flowers on the dressing table, an extra blanket lying neatly folded on the chest under the window, and a tin of chocolate biscuits on the bedside table. No one to nag about spoiling one’s dinner, she thought, sampling the contents of the tin and moving across to the window. She sat on the broad sill and crunched biscuits. Why do I dislike Christine so much? she pondered. Why can’t I just ignore her in the same way as I ignored the few girls at school who rubbed me the wrong way? Because of Nicholas, the little voice of honesty whispered. Because she’ll never make him happy.

  Tessa gazed over the garden. A mist seemed to obscure the bright gold of the day, and for once Tessa, usually receptive to the beauty of colour, was blind to its artistic possibilities.

  Voices sounding below made her look down.

  Christine and Nicholas were walking towards the white car. As she prepared to step in, Christine paused and laid her hand on Nicholas’s arm. She said something, her smile charming, and Nicholas inclined his head.

  Tessa drew back, not wanting to watch those possessive gestures, then, in spite of herself, leaned forward again. Dennis had got into the car and it was moving away. And Nicholas had turned towards the house, his face set in cool, unreadable lines.

  CHAPTER III

  After lunch Tessa’s offer of help met with a firm refusal from Florence Reyne.

  ‘Go and unpack and get settled in,’ she instructed, so Tessa hung her, dresses in the spacious wardrobe, reflecting that she seemed to have spent the past week filling and emptying suitcases.

  Having made leisurely decisions as to what should go into each drawer, she sat back and regarded her personal treasures; the musical box Nicholas had given her, the worn silver toilet set that had belonged to her grandmother, and the absurd little nodding Chinaman that was her most cherished possession. Despite her efforts to recall it, the mental image of her father’s face had blurred with the passage of time. Only when she held the Chinese talisman did the grave, kindly face emerge from shadowy contours and she saw him again as he pressed the little figure into her hand. I wonder if you I do bring luck, she mused, tilting the Chinaman and watching the head nod solemnly up and down.