A Promise Is for Keeping (17 page)

Fay nodded. "I wish I'd met her earlier. Yet in some ways I'd known her all my life. Mother used to talk of her so often."

Mark led her to the door. "Send the nurse in, will you? I won't be long."

Fay found the others in the kitchen with Mrs. Horsfall and when she had given her message she stayed for a moment or two with the housekeeper.

"I'm glad you came that last time—back in May," the housekeeper told her. "Mrs. Travers did enjoy it so much—she often spoke of it. But time didn't mean anything to her—she always thought that it was just yesterday that you had come and that you'd be down again tomorrow. We used to let her think that, because she was a bit worried because there were something she had meant to say to you before you left that day, but she couldn't remember what it was. She never did remember, bless her heart, but you may be sure it was some kindly thought. D'you know I don't think I ever heard Mrs. Travers say anything unkind about anyone—though there was plenty of occasion for it, even among members of her own family."

That had been true enough, Fay thought, remembering the Christmas house party. Toni had indeed been very tolerant.

Fay wandered back into the hall just as Mark came out of Toni's room. He came towards her, but stopped in a pool of sunlight which fell through the tall window on the spot where the firelight had glowed on her last visit and they had all gathered round with noise and laughter.

"You'll miss her," Fay said quietly.

"Yes," Mark agreed. "There has always been Toni. As long as I can remember anything it has been Toni and this house."

"Will you keep the house?" Fay found herself asking in the way one does when words and thoughts come with difficulty.

"Oh yes," Mark answered without hesitation. "She would have wanted that."

Toni's wishes reminded Fay, and she asked, "What was it I promised her to do?"

For a moment Mark looked at her in silence. Then an expression strangely at variance with his weariness crept into his eyes. It surprised Fay and she could not read it aright. It was almost of amusement—or mischief?

"You promised to be my wife and the mother of my children," he told her.

ANGER, white-hot and searing, flared through Fay and left her icy cold. Not knowing that she was speaking, she heard a voice, her voice, dropping words like chiselled pieces of stone into the pool of silence. "You despicable, lying cheat!"

She saw Mark's eyes widen for a moment, almost as though he was surprised. She saw his lips open as though he was going to speak, but she did not give him time.

"I suppose you think it clever to keep your marriage a secret from Toni—because she didn't approve of early marriage. Because she might have disinherited you if she had known. All right, lie away—that's your own affair. But to trick me into making that promise—how dare you involve me in your deceit !"

Mark spoke then, and his voice was so low and quiet that Fay had the feeling that her own voice had been raised, and to add to her anger she felt she had put herself at a disadvantage.

"At least it made Toni happy at the last," he said, "and the fact that you didn't know what you were promising surely absolves you from fulfilling it."

Brown eyes met blue, and neither wavered in their glance.

Then Fay spoke again with chilly distinctness. "Toni wouldn't thank you for happiness based on a lie—and that's what you've made me do. A promise to me is something to be kept—something sacred. And you've turned it into a lie."

"Then we shall have to see what we can do to make it possible for you to keep your promise, shan't we?" Now there

was a distinct and hideous glint of amusement in Mark's eyes which drove Fay's anger to white heat again.

"Never in a thousand years—" she began, and then had to break off as the door from the kitchen quarters opened and Mrs. Horsfall came through.

"The coffee won't be a moment," she said to Fay. "I expect you could do with a cup after your early start." And then turning to Mark, she went on, "Have you drafted the telegrams, Mark? If you'll do that then I can phone them through for you on the other phone while you get on to the solicitors and suchlike."

"All right, Horsey, I'll go and do that right away—if you'll excuse me?" The last words were addressed to Fay, but she did not reply.

"Did she speak to you, Miss Gabriel?" the housekeeper asked in a rather unsteady voice. "She did so want to see you again."

"Yes." Fay felt suddenly drained of her anger and of everything else except sorrow. "Yes, she spoke to me, but unfortunately I can't understand Italian."

"Did she remember what it was she wanted to ask you?"

Fay felt Mrs. Horsfall's eyes on her. She had a feeling that the housekeeper knew what that something was, and her reply was guarded.

"I don't know. Yes, I think perhaps I did—"

"And were you able to put things right for her?"

"I think I gave her the assurance she wanted." Fay knew she was being stilted, but not now or ever would she confide to anyone the impasse into which Mark's perfidy had led her. And in truth in those first moments she hardly knew herself what was involved.

The au pair girl brought a tray of coffee cups and Fay sipped the hot liquid. It seemed that it was what she had needed, for suddenly she knew what she had to do now.

"What's the number of the local garage?" she asked. "I had to get special leave from the hospital and I should get back there as soon as possible. There's nothing I can do here now, is there?"

"No," Mrs. Horsfall agreed, "but won't you wait for Mark

—he's sure to be going back later on. And you should have some lunch before you go."

"Thank you very much—but I really ought to catch the first available train," Fay insisted

As the train, gathering speed, lengthened the miles between her and Beechcroft Fay felt her anger dying. She fought to keep it alive because she knew that once it was gone she would feel shrivelled and empty.

Anger, however, was something at which Fay was not very adept. Reason cancelled it out. Reason and understanding—perhaps most of all understanding. She could understand although she deplored the motive which had activated Toni to want her grandson to stay unmarried until his career was firmly established. She could understand that Mark, out of love for his grandmother, would not want to go against her wishes. But she could understand—oh, how she could understand !—that stronger love which had come to him, making likes and deceit a small price to pay in exchange for it. Yes, she could understand that out of her own experience. But he should not have tricked her into giving that impossible promise.

That was cruel—he should not have made her give Toni that unequivocal "Yes." He should have found some way, some lie that would have made Toni happy yet not have · placed the burden on her. Yet even with the thought there sprang up an excuse for him. He had not realised just how much that promise would cost her. She was only gradually becoming aware of the total cost herself.

Back at the hospital she went straight to Matron's office before going to her own quarters. "Come in," answered her tap at the door, and Matron looked up and nodded to her. She was on the telephone and it was only a second before Fay knew to whom she was talking.

"Yes—oh, here she is—she's just come in now. Yes, I'll tell her, Mr. Osborne," and Matron put down the receiver.

"I didn't expect you back so soon, Sister," she said.

"I was in time to see Mrs. Travers—and speak to her. But she died very shortly after I arrived, so I thought I'd better come straight back," Fay explained. "There was nothing

more I could do for her. The nurse is there, and a housekeeper, and an au pair girl. It was good of you to let me have the time off, Matron, but I didn't want to be away longer than I needed."

Matron nodded. "I appreciate that, Sister. You apparently left before the date for the funeral had been arranged. Mr. Osborne asked me to tell you that it will be on Monday. Will you be wanting to go down again to attend?"

Fay had not given that question any thought as yet, but she replied at once as though she had, obeying instinct rather than thought. "No, thank you, Matron. I don't know any of the family, and my friendship with Mrs. Travers was very short and mostly through my mother. I should feel an outsider—and I think I should respect her memory better by remaining on duty here."

Matron nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Sister. I don't mind admitting that it would have been difficult to release you again on Monday as Sister Miles goes on leave on Sunday. But of course I would have managed somehow if you had wanted to go."

"Thank you, Matron, but I would prefer to remain on duty. Shall I take over the evening theatres? I think there was a heavy list for today."

To Fay's surprise Matron declined her offer. "No, thank you, Sister. I have given strict instructions that there is to be no duty for you today. You do look rather washed out," she went on, cutting short Fay's remonstrance. "If I might suggest it, why don't you spend the rest of the day out of doors —you look as if you need some fresh air. Get out into the parks or something like that."

Suddenly Fay realised that she was glad Matron had not accepted her offer of duty. Anger had taken its toll of her and she did feel tired and lethargic.

She had not had lunch, but she had no appetite, and a glass of milk and a few biscuits supplied all she needed. Within half an hour she was passing through the hospital gates again.

She had no set plan as she passed the porter's lodge, but the sight of a bus decided her. She would go to Kew. It was neither daffodil time nor bluebell time now, and she had

been there at both those seasons in response to Geoff's persuasions, but there was bound to be something worth seeing, and in any event as it was a weekday the long shady green drives that led down towards the river would be cool and peaceful.

The bus journey through the crowded streets of London provided her with a diversion from her thoughts, but her interest was very detached. The whole day seemed unreal now and if it were not for the pain in her heart she might have thought she had dreamed it all. But instead her thought was, "I wonder if this is what a patient feels like when he knows he has some incurable disease? One just has to learn to live with it, I suppose."

The second crop roses in the Gardens were magnificent and the early dahlias almost incredibly bright and gay, but Fay did not stay long amongst the formal flower beds, seeking instead those quieter parts of the place where, with grass under her feet and leaves above her head, she could think that she was in the country again.

It was getting well into the afternoon now and she had the long ride to herself—except for one other person who was walking in the same direction as herself. Walking—but slowly with the aid of two crutches. She blinked. It couldn't be, because he had gone back to his convalescent home yesterday —but it was—Geoff ! And even as she stared incredulously at his back she saw him t
hrow down the crutches and pro
ceed, a little uncertainly, without their aid.

"That was a silly thing to do," she said, catching him up and bringing the discarded crutches with her. "You might not have been able to stoop to pick them up."

Geoff was so astounded at her voice and the sight of her that he rocked a little and might have fallen, but she already had a grip of his arm.

"What on earth are you doing here?" he cried.

"I might ask you the same thing," she smiled. "You're playing truant, aren't you."

"Not exactly. I phoned yesterday evening and told the Matron that I had some business I wanted to see through before I went back—and that I could stay with a friend—so she gave me her blessing. I wanted to see you again," he

explained a little shyly, "but when I went to the hospital they told me you had gone to Mr. Osborne's grandmother."

"Toni Travers, yes. She was my mother's godmother, you know."

"Yes, I remember, you told me about her. But they said you weren't expected back until tonight."

"Well, I came back earlier. I thought Matron might want me to take over some duty seeing that I had all yesterday off. But she didn't, so here I am—getting some fresh air."

"You look awfully tired," he commented.

"That's the result of idleness," she said, for Geoff's grey eyes could be very penetrating and she did not want him to see too much. "Now what was the idea of throwing away your crutches?" she demanded.

"I wanted to see if I could do without them."

"Goodness, Geoff, haven't you been told time and time again that you'll be completely fit and well again—it's only a question of time and patience. But you might have undone everything if you'd slipped and fallen again now."

"I suppose it was silly," he agreed, "but you see I wanted to be sure—well, that I could be a whole man again. It's very important to me. Important to the end of my novel, too," he finished with a smile.

"Well, don't you go taking any more chances like that or I shall have to read the riot act to you!" she said with mock severity. "Here, take your crutches. Shall we go down to the river or go and get some tea?"