Next Door to Romance (7 page)

'But really, I ought not to be thinking about myself,' she said self-reproachfully. 'Tom—oh, I do wish I hadn't had to hurt him—and what am I to do about working longer hours for him? When he suggested it he must have hoped it would give him a chance to—well, it would bring us together more. But now I don't see how he can help wishing he'd never made the offer. But he won't back out of it. He'll have too much pride for that. So I suppose it's up to me—and yet that would quite likely hurt his feelings, make him think I don't trust him not to try to persuade me—oh, what a
mess
! Poor old Tom! And perhaps, just a tiny bit, poor me, because it means I've lost the best friend I've ever had!'

In the end, when they were washing up after breakfast, she decided to ask her mother what she ought to do. But it wasn't easy to get started. Finally she blurted out:

'Mother, last night Tom asked me to marry him.'

Mrs Bellairs' hands stilled momentarily in her task. It was the only sign she gave of her disquiet. From the way in which Lisa had told her this, she knew beyond doubt what the answer had been. But wiser not to say that—or ask any questions. Leave it to the child to say what she wanted to.

'I had to say "no" because I just don't feel that way about him,' Lisa explained earnestly. 'I mean, I'm awfully fond of Tom—how can one help being when he's such a dear? But—but—' she shook her head, doubtful of making her mother understand.

'But when he comes into the room, your heart doesn't start beating more quickly?' Mrs Bellairs suggested. 'And you don't feel that a day when you don't see him is so much wasted time?'

'Yes, that's it, exactly,' Lisa said eagerly. 'How did you know?'

'Darling, I was your age once!' her mother reminded her, and contrived to smile, though she was desperately anxious.
She
knew what young love is like because she had experienced it. But who had taught Lisa to recognize it? Instinct? It might be that, but Mrs Bellairs remembered that look—in her own mind she called it THAT LOOK—in Lisa's eyes the previous morning when she and Tom had come back from their early walk. Or had she imagined it? No, she thought not, because, despite her obviously genuine concern for Tom, Lisa still had that shining look about her.

'If you know for sure that you don't love him in that extra special way, then you were quite right to refuse him,' Mrs Bellairs said firmly.

'That's how I felt about it,' Lisa told her earnestly. 'But what I'm afraid of is whether it's going to make things difficult with Tom living here—'

'Difficult for Tom—or you?' Mrs Bellairs asked.

'Both of us. But principally Tom.'

'Yes, you're quite right, of course,' Mrs Bellairs said briskly. 'The best thing for Tom would be for him not to see you any more—to have a chance of getting over the way he feels about you and perhaps being attracted to some other girl.'

'Yes,' Lisa agreed, but again she felt that little pang at the thought of losing Tom's friendship. 'But since that isn't possible, of course, I'd keep out of Tom's way as much as possible—at least, I would have done, but for one thing. Yesterday morning he asked me if I could take on doing more work for him, and I agreed. Now I'm not sure what I ought to do. Tom really does need more help—he told me that if I didn't feel I could take it on, then he'd have to find someone else.'

'Had he anyone else in mind?' Mrs Bellairs asked quickly, and wasn't sure whether she felt relief or regret when Lisa shook her head. She was silent for a moment and then said slowly: 'Of course, Tom can't leave this house. There's absolutely no other place for miles around that would suit him half so well, and frankly, what he pays us is very helpful. But there is another way out.
You
could go away for a time—get a job somewhere—'

'Oh, but I couldn't do that!' Lisa exclaimed as if the idea of such a thing horrified her.

Mrs Bellair's eyes narrowed slightly.

'Why not, dear? Plenty of girls do leave home and work at something or other. And in your case, you'd have to, because there's so little scope for anything but the dreariest of jobs round here!'

'But, Mother, with your arthritis, how could you do without me?' Lisa asked with an uncomfortable sense of guilt. What she had said was true enough, but she knew quite well that it wasn't her real reason for not wanting to leave Addingly.

She must, she simply
must
see Mark Saville again! Of course, he didn't live here. From what he had said, she had gathered that he had a flat in London, and if she were to get a job away from home, that would probably be in London as well, so there would be no reason why they shouldn't meet there. Only it was so very evident that Mark, if not exactly wealthy, certainly moved in a circle very different from anything Lisa had ever known.

She visualized him giving cocktail parties at his flat or entertaining people at smart restaurants. His guests would be men who, like Mark, were making or had made their way in the world. And the women—they would be sophisticated and soignée with beautiful jewels and clothes and furs. And beside them, Lisa knew she would look like a country cousin—and worse still,
feel
like one. But here, where she belonged, if she wasn't a Somebody, at least she wasn't a Nobody either. Here, she could meet Mark on her own ground, and what was more, here, the sophisticated townswoman would look over-dressed and out of place. So she must stay! She realized that her mother was talking very emphatically.

'Nonsense, darling! You're just
not
going to be one of those spinster daughters for ever tied to their mother's apron strings! One of these days you'll be getting married and then, of course, you'll be leaving us. So why not go now and see a bit more of the world before the time comes for you to settle down?'

She waited anxiously. She could have told Lisa that it was because her world was such a small one that anything outside its restricting boundaries must of a necessity seem more exciting, more of an adventure than those things she had come to accept as part of her everyday life. And Tom came within that category. Everyday, ordinary—that must be how he seemed to Lisa. Of course, it might be perfectly true that she didn't and never would love Tom. But surely she'd have a better chance of knowing her own mind for sure if she could look at Tom from a greater distance—get him into perspective, so to speak.

'Well, we can't decide anything like that in a hurry,' Lisa said matter-of-factly. 'For one thing, I'd have to decide what I'd do—and you know as well as I do that there aren't many things I
can
do. What I must decide right away is whether to tell Tom I've changed my mind about working for him—'

'If I were you, I'd leave it to Tom,' Mrs Bellairs said firmly. 'See whether he—'

And, as if she had given him his cue, Tom burst into the kitchen. He had a struggling, demented cat in his arms—a cat shrouded and swathed in the gluey length of an old-fashioned fly-paper, a loop of which had somehow stuck itself to Tom's red hair.

'For heaven's sake, come and lend me a hand, Lisa!' he implored breathlessly. 'Two hands aren't nearly-enough. Ouch, you little blighter, keep still, can't you?'

Lisa tossed down her tea towel and followed Tom quickly back to his surgery. The door closed behind them.

'Oh, drat the boy!' Mrs Bellairs said in sheer exasperation. 'Does he have to make a figure of fun of himself so that he looks like a scruffy schoolboy instead of the man who will bring Romance into her life! He's an idiot—or—' she put her head thoughtfully on one side— 'is he? He must know what a difficult situation they're both in now, but by being so matter-of-fact and unromantic, he's probably put Lisa's mind at rest over working for him—and without saying a word about it, either! I suppose—' suspicion flooded her mind, 'he didn't deliberately get that poor kitten so tangled up—'

Tom hadn't—but he had taken advantage of a situation which chance had presented to him. Who wouldn't in such circumstances? Not Tom, anyway! He, as Mrs Bellairs had finally decided, was no fool. And last night, he had done a lot of thinking.

'Yes, I know,' the Rector's wife said apologetically to the ladies of her Gala and Fete Committee. 'We all feel we're being hustled into doing something we may regret, but what is the alternative? To cancel the whole thing, and we simply can't afford to do that. Look at the condition the surplices are in, to say nothing of the repairs to the kneelers. Then we really ought to try to do at least something about the heating system—'

'It could hardly have happened at a more inconvenient time,' the wife of the local chemist sighed gustily. 'Not, of course, that I mean for one moment that Mr Medway died
purposely
just four days before the Fete, only—' she stopped, feeling that what she had been about to say was not, perhaps, just the thing to mention in front of the Rector's wife.

Mrs Thacker, however, was too experienced in village ways to bother very much when a rather silly little woman like Doris Trot was a little too outspoken.

'Yes, very inconvenient,' she agreed briskly. 'All the same, we can hardly expect the Medways to want their privacy intruded upon at such a time, and apart from Bardley Manor, there's no other house for miles with a big garden and a paddock sufficiently large to take all the marquees and side-shows we've planned. So I propose that I should write to Mr Cosgrave and thank him for coming to our rescue—'

'I second that,' Mrs Bellairs said quietly. She had her own reasons for wanting to visit Bardley Manor. Odd little bits of gossip had come her way lately, and though she had taken them with a grain of salt, it did seem possible that some of them might be true.

'Well, there doesn't seem to be anything else for it,' Mrs Trot admitted unwillingly. 'But I must say, I think it's a pity. After all, we don't know a thing about them, and once we've accepted a favour from them, they're
in
, if you see what I mean. And there's nothing one can do about it then.'

Lisa, co-opted on to the committee as a representative of the younger members of the community, jumped to her feet.

'I think it's very unfair and extremely foolish to condemn people just because they're newcomers,' she announced hotly. 'After all, though to all of us the Webbers were the family at the Manor, there was a time when they were strangers to the district. I expect people used to resent them taking the place of the— the—'

'The Rattrays,' Mrs Thacker supplied quietly. 'Yes, I expect you're quite right, Lisa! We are very slow to make friends, we country people. In some ways it's a good thing, because real friendship must develop slowly so that it can be based on real knowledge. But then how can we acquire that knowledge without taking some risk? And we must remember, Mr and Mrs Cosgrave have taken a risk—oh yes, they have, Mrs Trot! Because, you know, we have so many affairs locally when the use of the Manor would be extremely useful-and they may find that we are just rather too demanding. Yet, despite that fact, of which they are probably well aware, they have come to our rescue in this predicament, haven't they? So, if no one can suggest an alternative plan—' she glanced round her ladies, who murmured their agreement.

Half an hour later Mrs Thacker's visitors left, with the exception of Mrs Bellairs. The two of them were friends of long standing and usually indulged in a little family gossip after any committee on which they both served. Now, over a freshly brewed pot of tea, Mrs Bellairs learned that George Thacker had recently had a promotion which would mean he could live nearer home.

'Though not, thank goodness, sufficiently near actually to live with us,' Mrs Thacker said fervently as she poured out the tea. 'That would never do. George has got his own life to live, and in a Rectory, you know, one has to live the Rector's life! I mean, everything has to come second to the requirements of his office and work. Oh, it's quite right, of course. It ought not to be any other way. But young people—' she shook her head. 'No, they must be free to make their own decisions and stand by the result of them!'

'You do see things so clearly, Alice,' Mrs Bellairs said with a sigh. 'I have plenty of ideas, you know, but I'm never sure whether I'm imagining things or not—'

'Lisa?' Mrs Thacker asked sympathetically.

'You've noticed?' Lisa's mother asked. 'She's different, just lately. Just this last few weeks, in fact. Since the Cricket Dance.'

Mrs Thacker hesitated. They were old friends, but all the same, one mustn't intrude too much into private affairs.

'That was a few days after the Cosgraves actually moved in,' she said reflectively. And then, casually: 'I understand they have a very good-looking daughter —no sons.'

'But people have been hinting—' Mrs Bellairs explained. And then, as Mrs Thacker remained silent: 'You'd better tell me, Alice. There is something, isn't there?'

'Yes—for what it's worth,' Mrs Thacker confessed. 'A young man turned up and introduced himself to Hubert who, in turn, introduced him to Lisa. His name was Mark Saville and he was staying at the Manor. Something to do with Mr Cosgrave's firm. That was the evening Tom was called out to that horrible accident on the main road—and so Lisa was free to dance with Mr Saville.'

'And she didn't seem to miss Tom?' Mrs Bellairs suggested.

'No, I can't say she did,' said Mrs Thacker. 'He ran her home when the dance ended—'

'And Lisa told us nothing about it,' Mrs Bellairs said thoughtfully. 'Which means it was so important, so-so
precious
that she couldn't bear to speak of it.'

'That could be true,' Mrs Thacker agreed. 'I mean, usually they tell you the unimportant things, don't they! Maddening, of course, but I suppose we did the same in our day!'

'I expect so,' Mrs Bellairs agreed wryly. 'Alice, this Mark—Mark Saville, you said, didn't you. What's he like?'

'About thirty-two or three, I should think,' Mrs Thacker said judicially. 'Dark, attractive in an almost ugly way. Blue eyes and charming manners. And very gay—'

Attractive and gay—just the very things Tom wasn't!

'Now look, Mary, stop worrying,' Mrs Thacker laid her hand over her friend's. 'Lisa herself is extremely attractive, and it's only natural that young men notice it! He can't be the first to have done so!'