The Dutch Uncle Read online

  ‘I can’t—I’ve got a stitch.’

  He slackened his pace and drew her into the shelter of the hedge, where an overhanging clump of trees afforded a slight protection from the elements.

  ‘Though we’re liable to get a waterfall down our necks,’ he remarked, glancing upwards.

  The relentless curtain of rain isolated them in a secret stillness that was strangely intimate. It was with a mixture of relief and regret that Tessa noticed that the volume of rain was decreasing and traces of a watery sun were gleaming through the clouds.

  Nicholas turned down the soaked collar of his jacket. ‘Come on, we must look like a couple of drowned rats.’

  She smiled at his prosaic tone.

  The sun was pouring down on a glistening world by the time they reached Meads. In her room, Tessa ruefully took off the new dress and surveyed the soaked, mud-bespattered hem. Better rinse it out right away, she decided. She put the dress over her arm and went downstairs. At the kitchen door she was stopped abruptly by a streak of cream and brown rushing past her legs, and a crash from within the room. Staring after the departing Ming, she wait inside, and then gave a horrified gasp.

  Florence was struggling to her feet, her face twisted with pain. Tessa ran to her, murmuring her shock, and saw the angry scald spreading over her arm. Steam rose from the contents of an overturned saucepan, and water dripped from the cooker down to the floor.

  ‘What happened?’ Tessa grabbed a clean tea towel and hastily wrapped it round Florence’s arm. ‘Come and sit down.’ She helped her to a chair and looked anxiously at her. ‘I’d better tell Nicholas—he’ll phone for the doctor.’

  ‘No!’ Florence protested. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. I—I got a shock—don’t bother, Tessa.’

  ‘That scald should be dressed.’ Tessa spoke over her shoulder as she darted out.

  The study door opened as she reached it and Nicholas came out, his face concerned. ‘What happened? I heard a cry. Was it you?’

  She explained quickly, and hurried back to Florence. Fortunately a kettle was simmering on the hotplate and soon Florence was drinking a cup of hot sweet tea. Nicholas came in to say that the doctor was coming immediately, and demanded to know what had happened.

  ‘I slipped,’ Mrs. Reyne explained, some of the colour coming back into her face, ‘and my knee twisted, and I fell. I caught the handle of the pan and brought it over myself—silly thing to do.’ She attempted to stand up. ‘Look at the mess—and the meat will be spoiling.’

  ‘Sit down,’ Tessa said firmly. ‘I’ll see to things.’ By the time she had rescued the meat and mopped up the mess the doctor had arrived.

  A round little man with rosy cheeks and bright darting eyes, he showed no animosity at being dragged away from his Sunday meal. He removed the towel and inspected the arm.

  ‘Umm, soon see to that.’ His eyes twinkled at Tessa. ‘Good girl for putting on a clean dry cloth instead of smothering it with grease or flour, or what have you.’

  After dressing the arm he examined Mrs. Reyne’s knee. Already it was swollen and puffy. ‘Never satisfied with one thing, you women. I’ll have to strap that—you’ve nipped the cartilage. Rest it, and I’ll look in again dining the week. If the arm troubles you, let me know.’

  When he had gone, Tessa served a belated lunch and then settled Florence in her sitting room.

  ‘The girl—Maggie—comes in each morning during the week,’ Nicholas remarked afterwards. ‘Can you cope, Tessa, and see that Florence rests that leg?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tessa said eagerly. ‘I’ve wanted to do my whack ever since I came. But no one would let me.’

  ‘There was no need,’ Nicholas said rather brusquely. ‘Florence is extremely capable and probably prefers to keep to her own routine. After all, you can’t have had any experience of household management.’

  Tessa’s face flamed. ‘I didn’t mean to interfere with her routine, only to save her extra work on my account. Six months is a long time to have to cope with an extra person for meals, bed linen, and all the extra work entailed.’

  ‘Now don’t let’s start going into that again. I suppose your intentions were of the best. However, now that this emergency has arisen you’ll have ample scope for working your passage.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘If you run into difficulties let me know, and I’ll see if I can get a woman in from the village until Florence is better.’

  With that he left her, and Tessa, stung and hurt, cleared away the dishes and tidied the kitchen. She went to see how Florence was feeling and found her ill at ease, with a frown creasing her usually placid features.

  Impulsively Tessa knelt beside her. ‘Is it very painful?’ she asked sympathetically.

  ‘Not very, but that’s not what’s worrying me. How am I going to manage? Hardly able to walk, and this’—she held up the white-cocooned arm—‘I won’t be able to put it in water.’

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ Tessa begged. ‘Maggie and I will cope.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt of that, bless you. It’s the visitors this weekend. There’ll be so much extra.’ Florence sighed fretfully. ‘This would happen now!’

  ‘I didn’t know we were having visitors!’ Tessa looked up sharply.

  ‘A Mr. and Mrs. Gleadon,’ Florence responded. ‘They’re coming on Friday to stay till Monday morning. Bob—their son—is joining them on Saturday, and bringing his girl-friend.’ She paused, disapproval tightening her lips. ‘Though why she has to invite herself here to sleep as well, when her parents only live a couple of miles away, is beyond my comprehension.’

  Not ... it couldn’t be Christine, surely. Tessa stared at the housekeeper, and saw her dismay confirmed in the older woman’s eyes. ‘But I should have thought...’ she burst out, then checked herself.

  ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking,’ Florence said. ‘I can’t say I like the idea myself, not after...’ She sighed. ‘However, it isn’t for me to voice my personal opinions. Nicholas is the last person to let personal matters influence his friendship with the Gleadons, who were close friends of his parents.’

  Tessa listened only half attentively. That Christine should be coming to Meads, as a guest, with the son of Nicholas’s friends, came as a shock. Was she going to marry Bob Gleadon after all? And if so, how would Nicholas react? Seeing the girl he had once hoped to marry as a guest in his own home, her affections transferred to another man. Surely it would be an almost impossible situation for Nicholas.

  Florence said quietly, ‘Nicholas arranged this visit himself, my dear. While he was in Manchester he found they were travelling south and persuaded them to break their journey. Naturally Bob, who is working in Oxford at present, wanted to see his parents, and the rest just followed.’

  The rest being Christine, thought Tessa bitterly. She forced herself to think of more practical matters and said, ‘You’d better tell me what’s to be done, and I can start preparing for them.’

  Working with Maggie during the following days, Tessa began to realize how much organization and work went into the smooth running of a home. The tasks seemed endless. By Wednesday most of the advance preparations had been made. The guest rooms shone, and only a last-minute dusting and putting out clean towels was left till Friday. Now there was the shopping to do. Armed with a long list, Tessa went to Marchfield, and was staggered to see the quantities of food that arrived with the delivery van on Thursday morning. ‘I suppose seven people will eat all that in three days,’ she told herself wonderingly.

  Initiated by Florence into the art of cooking and pressing an ox tongue, she hovered anxiously over the cooker, prodding occasionally at the piece of ham which simmered in another pan.

  ‘I don’t know what we did before refrigerators were invented,’ Florence remarked. ‘You can do so much beforehand, even if the weather’s hot, and have more time with your guests.’

  The hours flew past. Cakes and pastries were set to cool on trays; looking delicious, Tessa decided, with the novice’s anxiety abo
ut the tasting qualities within. The clock hands stood at ten when she began skinning the tongue, prior to pressing it in its mould.

  ‘It’ll need to cool a little before you put it in the fridge,’ Florence told her. ‘Why not have a cup of tea and get ready for bed? You can pop down last thing and add the aspic.’

  ‘And leave all this?’ Tessa gazed at the clutter of dirty utensils and the pile in the sink.

  ‘Maggie can cope in the morning. You’ve done enough for one day.’

  Tessa was horrified. ‘And try to make breakfast amid this?’ She shook her head, and made a pot of tea, then helped Florence to limp upstairs to her room.

  The silence seemed oppressive after Florence’s talkative supervision. Only the swish of water round the bowl as she scoured the pans, and her own breathing broke the stillness of the overheated kitchen. She peered through the window, then put out her hand to break the rather eerie blur of reflection on the glass She rinsed the bowl and upturned it, wondering if Nicholas had returned without her hearing him. He had told her not to bother preparing an evening meal for him.

  The hall clock was striking midnight when she paused, her hand on the light switch, and glanced round the now spotless kitchen. Then she remembered the cats. Fatigue struggled with conscientiousness, and she went back to refill their bowls with fresh drinking water.

  The gush from the tap drowned the click of the outer door. Holding the brimming bowls, she turned to see the shadow in the hall and gave a stifled cry.

  Nicholas said, ‘Did I startle you? I didn’t expect to find anyone still up.’

  She replaced the bowls and said, ‘I’ve just finished.’

  ‘So I see. What have you been making?’ His eyes were quizzical.

  ‘Come and see.’ Her weariness forgotten, she opened the fridge door and pointed out the pressed meats, and the row of attractively coloured trifle bases ready for their cream toppings. ‘And a chocolate rum gateau,’ she added proudly.

  He smiled. ‘I can see we’re not going to starve.’ He put his arm round her and hugged her gently. ‘You must be tired. I’ll mix you a nightcap—I think you deserve it.’

  It was pleasant to be shepherded along to the study, and to relax in an armchair while Nicholas busied himself at the drinks tray.

  ‘Perhaps I was too abrupt the other morning,’ he said suddenly, handing her a glass containing a yellow concoction. ‘I didn’t intend to challenge your capabilities to this extent. Or expect to find you working till midnight.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed proving I can cook,’ she said shyly. ‘What’s this?’ She sniffed the glass.

  ‘My special brand of egg-flip—it’s time somebody drank the stuff.’

  ‘Getting rid of it on me.’ She giggled. ‘Why should I suffer?’

  ‘It’s good for you.’

  ‘Good for invalids.’ Nevertheless, she sipped it. ‘Doesn’t Florence deserve some?’

  ‘Florence has been singing your praises—though I shouldn’t tell you, I suppose.’

  She coloured a little, experiencing a rush of pleasure at the unexpected compliment, and he smiled. Then his face became serious.

  ‘There’s one thing I feel I must mention, Tessa.’ He paused, framing his words with care. ‘I know you’ve never liked Christine—’

  At the name, all Tessa’s animation died from her expression.

  ‘—but please try not to show that antagonism she seems to invoke in you. If not for my sake, for the sake of our other guests.’

  For a moment she studied his shadowed face as he stood, one arm resting along the mantelshelf, looking down into the dying embers. She leaned forward impulsively.

  ‘Nicholas, I’m sorry about—’ She stopped, seeing his sharp glance towards her.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  ‘It—it doesn’t matter,’ she said confusedly, her voice becoming dispirited as fear of intruding into his personal privacy restrained her desire to console.

  ‘I suppose you’re worried about my possible reactions to this weekend,’ he said dryly.

  She glanced away. ‘I hate to think of you being made unhappy.’ The words were so softly spoken he had difficulty in hearing them.

  ‘Never show pity to a man, Tessa.’ His expression was guarded.

  ‘I didn’t intend to pity you. I only wanted to—to say I’m sorry that things didn’t work out more happily,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Perhaps they will,’ he said strangely, then his tone altered. ‘I suppose you get your information from Gerard?’

  The downward movement of her head was almost imperceptible. He glanced at his watch, and took the empty glass from her hand. ‘Away you go, you strange child.

  ‘And remember this, Tessa,’ his voice checked her as she reached the door, ‘when next you muse over my possible fate. Events have a way of shaping their own destiny for us.’

  With puzzled eyes she studied him for a moment. In the shadowy room he was a silhouette against the subdued glow from the standard lamp. She sighed, pretending an understanding she did not possess.

  ‘I suppose they do—goodnight, Nicholas.’

  CHAPTER VII

  The cheerful little doctor arrived soon after breakfast. He pronounced Florence’s arm to be healing very nicely, but frowned and pursed his mouth when told of the increasing pain caused by the damaged knee.

  ‘We’ll have that checked.’ He glanced enquiringly at Nicholas. ‘May I use your phone?’

  Tessa saw Florence’s dismay as the doctor and Nicholas went from the room. A faint buzz of voices came from the study and grew louder as the two men returned.

  ‘I’ve made an appointment for you for Monday morning at ten.’ The doctor was scribbling as he spoke. ‘Take this with you, and I’ll look in again next Wednesday.’ He smiled at Tessa and rumpled her hair in passing. ‘Look after her, young lady, and don’t let her dance through the daily dusting.’

  ‘They’ll soon put it right at the hospital,’ Tessa tried to reassure her. ‘Meanwhile, you’ll just have to be a lady of leisure.’

  ‘Being a lady of leisure doesn’t agree with me,’ Florence said rather ungraciously, and Tessa and Nicholas looked helplessly at each other over her head.

  The Gleadons were expected about three o’clock.

  Leaving Maggie to clear away after lunch, Tessa hurried upstairs to wash and change. She was putting the final touches to an unobtrusive make-up when she heard the sound of a car. Giving Nicholas time to greet his friends, she went to join the visitors, who were commiserating with shocked and sympathetic exclamations over Florence’s mishap.

  ‘You should have told us about this,’ Helen Gleadon was saying. ‘We could have postponed our visit.’

  She was a tall, sweet-faced person with soft silver hair and delicate colouring. Her serene eyes held a gentleness and understanding that won Tessa’s trust immediately.

  Nicholas, having made the introductions, said blithely, man-like, ‘They wouldn’t hear of it.’ His smile encompassed Tessa and Florence as the little group settled in the lounge to begin an exchange of news.

  The day passed pleasantly, and Tessa felt her tension lessening after dinner had proceeded smoothly without any hitches backstage in the kitchen. Quietly she left the others and went to help Maggie with the washing-up. Knowing that Maggie was courting heavily, she sent her away in time to keep her date and completed the remaining tasks herself before rejoining the guests.

  Nicholas looked up and beckoned to her. ‘Come and see this.’

  She crossed to his side, seeing Helen and John smile, and watched him delve into a large cardboard box. There seemed to be an enormous amount of tissue packing, and her impatience mounted while Nicholas carefully lifted out the still-concealed content. Then a gleam of silvery glass showed, and the last swathing of tissue paper revealed an exquisite glass swan. Tessa gazed at its graceful lines, enchanted. How had the craftsman created the illusion of feathery swansdown wings from so unyielding a substance as glass?

&nb
sp; ‘Some of those Victorian glass-blowers produced wonderful effects,’ John Gleadon remarked, puffing at his pipe. ‘It’s a pity more of their work hasn’t survived intact.’

  Nicholas was examining his gift closely. ‘It’s not often one is fortunate enough to find so completely undamaged an example,’ he agreed. ‘Where did you find this, if I may ask?’

  Helen smiled. ‘It’s been in the family for years— kept under lock and key by an aunt of John’s. Now we’ve inherited it, the thought of the responsibility of looking after it is too much for me.’

  ‘So we decided to shift it on to you, old boy,’ John laughed, while Nicholas placed the swan on a side table.

  Tessa found her attention straying back to the swan. She thought of Ming, and that inquisitive brown paw. As far as she knew, the cats had never broken anything, but there was always a first time...

  She set her alarm that night for a very early hour, and solemnly bumped her head six times on the pillow—an infallible method from childhood days of ensuring she didn’t sleep in—before she closed her eyes. However, she was downstairs next morning before seven o’clock, quickly dusting the lounge while the kettle boiled for early morning tea.

  This she took up to Helen and John, and left them wrangling amiably over the question of who might be the one to arise early to continue this enjoyable custom when they returned home.

  Downstairs, Tessa sipped her own tea, and poured out a cup for Florence, then, as an afterthought, added a second cup to the tray before going upstairs again. She tapped lightly on Nicholas’s door, and when she heard the muffled, ‘Yes?’ went in.

  A newly vulnerable Nicholas regarded her across the dim room. She set down the tea and opened the curtains.’ He stared at her, his eyes narrowed against the strong morning sunlight, and reached for the cup.