The Dutch Uncle Read online

  ‘So there is someone at home, after all.’

  The husky, amused voice brought Tessa sharply to her feet.

  ‘I knocked three times—goodness! You are in a mess! The dark eyes travelled over Tessa’s earthy jeans, the now limp and grubby shirt, and lastly the hands which Tessa thrust hastily behind her back.

  Christine had traversed the damp garden without as much as soiling her shoes. How does she achieve it? Tessa wondered, eyeing the slender, immaculate figure that gave the impression its owner had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

  Quickly she recollected herself. Mrs. Reyne must be out, and she hadn’t heard Nicholas return. She pushed the tools into the basket and accompanied Christine back to the house. I suppose I should make her some tea, it’s nearly four, thought Tessa, having parked the visitor in the lounge. While the kettle boiled she removed the thickest traces of her activities and wished that either Florence or Nicholas would return to entertain the unexpected guest so that she could escape for a much-needed bath and change of clothing.

  She carried the tray into the lounge, secretly amused at the suspicious glance Christine directed towards her fingernails before she deigned to accept a sandwich.

  Ming wandered in, causing a welcome diversion, but perhaps something had upset his Siamese world that afternoon, for when Christine stretched out her hand to stroke him he turned sharply and fastened his teeth in her wrist. A cry, a sharp slap, and an anguished wail followed. Tessa scooped him up and tickled his tummy soothingly, knowing that this was the one infallible way of calming him, while she inspected the damage Christine thrust out for inspection.

  ‘Little tiger!’ Christine said viciously. ‘No one would imagine that he was really my cat. You knew that Nicholas gave him to me—of course you do.’ An unpleasant smile curved the red lips and Tessa looked away.

  She bit back an angry retort and the temptation to tell Christine her personal opinion of people who got pets and then couldn’t be bothered to look after contenting herself with saying, ‘I’ll take him out and bring you some lotion for your hand.’

  As she returned with the bottle of antiseptic and a swab of cotton wool, she saw the black Rover sweep up the drive. Christine waved away the proffered administration.

  ‘Never mind now. It’s not much, and I’m sure you must have other things to do.’

  ‘Such as?’ Tessa knew a sudden desire to be awkward.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, be your age,’ the other said irritably. ‘Must I put it in words of one syllable?’

  Returning the disdainful stare, Tessa could not resist saying evenly: ‘No. Even brats know when they’re not wanted.’

  Colour came into Christine’s cheeks. ‘You certainly haven’t lost much time in worming your way into one person’s confidence,’ she cried furiously.

  Open enmity flashed between them as Nicholas entered.

  He looked from Christine’s proud, beautiful features to Tessa’s small, tense face, and a faint frown narrowed his eyes. Before he could speak Tessa seized the tray and rushed past him. Christine smiled. ‘She must be quite a handful.’ Her tone expressed sympathy and conveyed a sense of unfairness that he should be given this responsibility.

  ‘Still, she’s made quite a conquest of Dennis,’ she added. ‘So I suppose you’ll soon find she’s tearing around with his set, and out of your way.’

  Nicholas ignored her comments and asked casually, ‘Home for the weekend?’

  ‘Yes.’ She leaned back; and as he lit her cigarette he noticed the tiny lines of tiredness beneath the perfect make-up.

  ‘This past year has been sheer hell.’ She settled deeper into her chair, crossing slim legs as she watched the lazy spirals of blue drifting from her cigarette.

  ‘The continental contract?’ He raised his brows.

  ‘What else?’ Under lowered lashes she glanced at him. ‘Never again.’

  ‘It need not have been.’

  ‘I know.’ For a moment she was silent. ‘I’m sorry, Nicholas.’

  ‘Why should you be?’ He walked to the window and looked across the garden. ‘The decision was yours—to make as you wished.’

  ‘Was it, Nicholas?’ With smooth movements she stood up and crossed to his side. ‘Other people were involved. The man who gave me my first opportunity. A famous couturier to whom I’d given my word. Would it have been honourable to break a contract?’

  ‘A contract you signed with your eyes open.’ His tone was even and colourless.

  ‘Oh, Nicholas! Was it so much to ask of you? A few months’ grace until I was free.’

  ‘But would you have been free? Could you have given up the world you love?’

  For the first time since he had entered the room some of the hardness softened from Nicholas’s expression as he faced her.

  ‘Yes.’ Christine betrayed no hint of inner excitement as she met his gaze, willing away the doubts that still lingered in his eyes. She looked down and said in a whisper, ‘I am free from what you term the world I love. I—I’ve given up modelling.’ In the moment of silence that followed she turned away, hesitating, then she added slowly:

  ‘Nicholas?’

  ‘Yes?’ he said guardedly.

  ‘You don’t make it very easy for me. There’s something else I must tell you.’ The words came out in a rush and suddenly she was very near to him.

  Her perfume tantalized his nostrils, and triggered off the old, nostalgic longing, making him realize that her spell could still weave its way into the fabric of his being and send his senses soaring.

  ‘Bob Gleadon has asked me to marry him.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ His words were rough.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she whispered. ‘I—I don’t want to make a dreadful mistake.’

  In a transient illusion time rolled back, and she slid into his arms. His mouth touched and clung to soft inviting lips, and his grip tightened as she responded.

  A tiny stifled sound from the doorway broke the spell. He disengaged himself and swung round. There was no one there. Slowly he reached for Christine’s jacket and picked up the gloves she had let fall.

  ‘Do you want a lift into Marchfield?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’ Her smile flashed, sure of its power, and she continued to smile while she slipped her arms into the jacket he held for her.

  Ming padded along the window sill, turned his back on the scene outside, and gave fastidious attention to one silken paw. He inspected it critically, then blinked blue eyes and rubbed his head against Tessa’s arm to reclaim her erring attention.

  She looked away from the two figures walking towards the car below and gently scratched Ming under his chin.

  Ever had a feeling you weren’t wanted, Brown Paws? she said solemnly.

  Ming gave a soft wail that might have been assent, and watched reproachfully while Tessa collected her sketchbook and prepared to depart to the pool.

  Her rambles frequently ended at Hazelmere pool a small, picturesque spot in the woods. A few minutes’ walk from the main road, along a winding path beneath a lacy canopy of beeches, brought her to the clearing and the big fallen log at the water’s edge.

  She threw herself down on the grass and allowed the quiet peacefulness to flow into her. A warm sun shone and rippled in golden flecks across the dreaming pool, and somewhere nearby a blackbird trilled his joy of the day. Tessa thought idly of her mother, and wondered how the rehearsals were progressing and what kind of an impact the show would make on Broadway. Would Angie be successful? Admittedly there was a current vogue for things British over there, but the public could be fickle.

  A sudden rustle caused her to raise her head.

  A small boy and a smaller girl regarded her from the far side of the pool. Slowly they edged their way round, the girl hanging back a pace or two behind the boy, whom Tessa guessed to be her brother.

  ‘We’re making stepping stones over the water,’ the boy volunteered after a long and cautious scrutiny. ‘We’ll be
able to walk right over.’

  ‘How clever.’ Tessa scrambled to her feet and held out her hands. ‘I’m Tessa. What are your names?’

  After a brief hesitation the little boy took Tessa’s hand ‘I’m Jackie, and this is my sister Susan. We have a baby brother at home called Timothy.’

  ‘That sounds a lovely family,’ said Tessa admiringly. ‘I haven’t any brothers or sisters. And my mother is in America.’

  ‘Come and see our mummy.’ The diminutive girl spoke for the first time and was promptly squashed by masculine authority.

  ‘We’ve only just come out. Don t be silly, Susan, We’ve got to finish the stones first.’ By this time they had reached the far end of the pool. Here the water looked shallow, and several stones had been placed in readiness at the water’s edge. Jackie broke away, calling imperiously to them to search for more stones. ‘Flat ones,’ he enjoined.

  Easier said than done, Tessa thought humorously as she looked over a stretch of stoneless green. ‘Where did you find those?’

  Jackie’s scornful glance said plainly: just like a girl, no ingenuity. ‘In the water, of course,’ he told her.

  Sure enough, there they were. Thankful that her shoes were old and expendable, Tessa approached the water’s edge. They worked industriously until a line of rather wobbly stones reached right across the pool.

  By this time Tessa was almost as muddy and dishevelled as the two children.

  ‘Now,’ said Jackie importantly, ‘we’ll, go over. Me first.’

  Slowly and with dignity the little procession set out, Jackie leading, followed by a timid Susan, and Tessa last. They had almost completed the crossing, Jackie having made the final jump, when Susan lost her balance on a particularly unsteady foothold and with a frightened cry toppled into the water.

  Aghast, Tessa realized that the pool was treacherous when the little girl went under. She plunged in, up to her waist in an unsuspected pothole, and scooped Susan to safety. She struggled to the bank and tried to squeeze the water out of the little girl’s clothes. Though Susan was unharmed she was very frightened, and Tessa said hurriedly: ‘Where do you live, Jackie? I don’t know what Mummy is going to say about this.’

  They squelched along the path. The sun was going down and a chilly breeze whipped Tessa’s skirts coldly against her legs. Wishing she had a jacket to wrap round Susan, she urged Jackie on. They came to the road and he hurried on ahead towards a small cottage. A harassed-looking young woman ran down the path towards them.

  ‘I’ve told you not to play in the pond, time and time again,’ she cried. ‘You’ll be drowned one of these days!’

  Susan’s howls had dispelled any doubts as to her fate, and the woman turned to Tessa. ‘Thank goodness you were there.’ Her gaze travelled over Tessa’s clothing in horror. ‘Your dress, miss—it’s ruined.’ She took the dripping Susan from her and added, ‘We’ll get her out of those wet things right away— then it’s bed for the pair of them. You’d better come in and get cleaned up as well. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  She hurried indoors, and, about to follow, Tessa turned to see where Jackie had gone. At the mention of bed he had quietly made for the gate while his mother’s attention was occupied.

  ‘Come on, mischief,’ Tessa bade, reaching for him. ‘Or I’m afraid you’ll get a spanking.’

  Then she saw the black car come round the bend in the road and a groan escaped her.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she moaned, urging Jackie towards the door and wondering if she could get through it herself in time.

  She was too late. The car door slammed, and Nicholas took in the situation at a glance.

  ‘The Thomas children, I see. Get in,’ he said-acidly.

  Tessa’s face flamed as she obeyed, miserably conscious of the havoc her muddy skirts were wreaking on the immaculate upholstery.

  She began to venture a tentative explanation, to which Nicholas, his eyes intent on the road, made no response. Turning towards him, she was just too late to see the suppressed quiver at the corner of his mouth. She lapsed into silence, thankful that the short journey was over and realizing that she was now shivering and very uncomfortable.

  Nicholas hustled her indoors and called to Mrs. Reyne, who came hurrying, alarm clouding her face when she saw Tessa’s bedraggled appearance.

  Tessa smiled feebly. ‘I’m perfectly all right—just wet.’

  ‘See that she has a hot bath and a warm drink afterwards,’ Nicholas said. As though I were ten, Tessa reflected sadly, bitterly aware of his unerring aptitude for being in the right place at the wrong time—at least as far as she was concerned.

  Later, clean and comfortable again, she sat in the study sipping hot milk. Nicholas switched on the portable electric fire and placed it beside her.

  ‘Now tell me the tale of woe,’ he said in bantering tone, seeming to have regained his good humour.

  She smiled. ‘There isn’t much to tell. Susan fell in, and I fished her out.’

  His brows went up.

  ‘I took her home and then you came.’ She hesitated. ‘I was going to dry out at the cottage.’

  ‘And not say anything about it?’

  She coloured. ‘You’re not always—it isn’t easy to—’

  ‘Talk to me?’

  She looked away, the expression in his grey eyes rousing a sudden feeling of guilt. ‘I—I’m sorry about the mud in your car.’

  He brushed her apology aside. ‘Listen, Tessa. That pool is dangerous. It has several deep potholes in places, and a child can drown in a few inches of water if panic-stricken—it’s happened before today. Stepping stones, indeed! If you intend including the Thomas children among your companions, keep them away from that pool in future.’ He stood up. ‘I think the time has come to find something to occupy your days until you grow out of these escapades.’

  He went out, leaving her once more conscious of the fact that in Nicholas’s eyes she was still very much a child, but no longer the indulged one, just a slightly importunate, half-grown-up one.

  Unfortunately, Tessa woke next morning with a sore throat, a sneeze, and an ache in every part of her body.

  Florence Reyne sat on the bed and clucked sympathetically.

  ‘A day or so in bed and you’ll be as right as rain.’

  ‘I’m not staying in bed,’ Tessa protested. ‘Making extra work for you.’ She pushed the bedclothes aside and sat up, wincing as stiff muscles protested at the movement.

  ‘You’ll stay where you are with that chill,’ Florence said firmly, surveying the flushed face and over-bright eyes. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat, and there’s a letter for you, from America.’ She was soon back, bringing easily swallowed dainties and the letter.

  ‘You’re spoiling me,’ Tessa said gratefully. ‘I feel a dreadful fraud.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Florence made sure that Tessa ate every morsel, then picked up the tray to depart. ‘By the way’—a trace of disapproval showed in her expression as she opened the door with a deft backward thrust of one hip—‘there was a phone call for you just now. Dennis Gerard. Wanted you to go off with him on some jaunt tomorrow—over to Oxford. I told him you were indisposed.’

  The door closed, aided by a foot this time, and Tessa smiled as she settled back to read her mother’s letter.

  The day passed, interspersed with frequent forays into a box of tissues, and she realized she must have dozed when she opened her eyes to a room with drawn curtains. She stirred, then started and sat up as the door opened.

  ‘Feeling any better?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She turned away from the shadowy figure, trying to conceal the very unglamorous red nose she knew she must have by now.

  ‘I called at the chemist for some lozenges for that throat.’ He opened the curtains and she saw it was still daylight. ‘You know, of course, what the stiffness is,’ he added.

  ‘The cold, I expect.’ Tessa was intent on the directions printed on the tube of lozenges.

  Nicholas laugh
ed outright and perched on the end of the bed. ‘You spent most of yesterday gardening—yes, I’ve inspected your efforts—and like all other forms of physical exercise, if you overdo the first session when not accustomed to it...’

  ‘I know,’ said Tessa, with feeling, remembering a certain gym mistress and a new routine. ‘The results have to be worked off, and not given in to.’

  ‘Tempered with restraint,’ Nicholas put in, ‘and not recommended with the chill you have at present.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  He showed no inclination to move, and she reached for a drink before relaxing back, suddenly conscious that the companionable silence was pleasant, and, magically, her headache had gone.

  A soft swish of tyres diverted Nicholas’s attention to the window. Hands in pockets, he looked down and remarked, ‘The grapevine works fast. I think you have a visitor already.’

  She sat upright in an effort to see, but her line of vision was cut off by Nicholas turning abruptly.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ She was pushed back none too gently and the blankets tucked firmly in place.

  ‘But I only wanted to—’

  He cut short her protest and moved to the dressing table. ‘I know.’ Compact, powder puff, and lipstick landed on the bed. ‘Glamour for the swain is a must,’ he said dryly.

  She began to laugh, then hastily thrust the cosmetics under the pillow as the door opened.

  ‘Hello, my sweet.’ Dennis breezed in, his arms loaded, and deposited his burdens on the bed. ‘Thought you might need cheering up, so I thought I’d do my good deed for the day.’

  Over the armful of flowers, the be-ribboned box of chocolates, and the paper bags containing, presumably, fruit, Tessa regarded him with astonishment. ‘I’m not an invalid!’ Then, catching a sardonic glance from Nicholas, she remembered her manners and thanked him, murmuring delightedly as she opened one of the bags and drew forth an enormous bunch of grapes.