The Quiet Heart (9 page)

“Do you think so?” There was something almost lazy in his tone now as he lay looking up at her. “Now, from a purely masculine point of view, I find it hard to agree with you—in fact, I cannot agree with you. Jessamy I would say is ripe for marriage ... but what she needs is not just a husband who will make demands of her, but a husband to take care of her and, indeed, cherish her. Jessamy will blossom like a garden when the right man comes along to take her under his wing ... and it has occurred to me that she seems to be blossoming already. She laughs more than when I first came here, doesn’t appear so timid, and she certainly talks—to me.”

Alison bent down hastily and rescued a log that had been on the point of falling out of the Jacobean fire basket. In a muffled voice she heard herself say:

“I’m very—glad—you think so. Jessamy worries me a good deal at times.”

“Then in future stop worrying about her. Jessamy is going to be all right.”

“But I can’t allow you to put ideas into her head, and talk about making her an allowance ... that sort of thing.”

“But you won’t deny me the pleasure of making her a few presents occasionally?”

“Not if they’re very small presents.”

He laughed again. There was a satisfied note in his laughter.

“Such as a white Triumph Herald—for some reason she fancies a white Triumph Herald—and a few girlish trinkets to make the most of her eyes, and some frocks and shoes and things, and because I really think she ought to have one to protect her from the cold of these Yorkshire uplands ... a fur coat?”

“A fur coat?” She turned and gazed at him stupidly. She could not be absolutely certain that he wasn’t just making fun of her.

“Oh, not a mink ... not yet!” His grey eyes were dancing. She couldn’t think why, when he had been so sombre a short while before. “Something in dyed rabbit, perhaps, or squirrel. Yes; I think squirrel would be most becoming for Jessamy, who occasionally makes me think of a squirrel herself. They’re enchanting little animals, don’t you think?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I suppose so.” Almost painfully Alison got to her feet again, and stood in front of him. “I’m sure you mean to be kind, Mr. Leydon,” she said stiffly.

“Make it Charles,” he requested, his eyes twinkling.

“You called me Mrs. Fairlie just now.”

“Because I hadn’t the courage to call you Alison. You looked so forbidding and so much on your dignity, offended because I’d gone out of my way to be nice to Jessamy. But I mean to continue to be nice to her, so you’d better get used to it.”

She swallowed a helpless sensation of wrath that was combined with dismay.

“I’ll go and get your soup,” she said.

He nodded at her affably.

“Splendid,” he murmured. “Your soup is always so delectable. And what is to follow the soup?”

“Chicken, with bread sauce.”

“Your bread sauce is quite out of this world.”

“And after that, if you feel like it, a steamed pudding.”

“Your steamed puddings melt in the mouth.”

She rushed out of the room. She felt like a middle-aged cook who had profited by years of experience.

CHAPTER VII

THE next morning, although Marianne wanted the car and a telephone call from London should have resulted in another frenzied orgy of preparation for a visitor on the part of Alison and her faithful helper, Mrs. Davenport, Alison drove herself to Murchester and was lucky enough to get her hair washed and set by the town’s leading hairdresser. As she had made no attempt to secure an appointment this was doubly lucky, and while under the drier she had her nails manicured and a light coating of varnish applied to them.

When she emerged from the drier she watched with an acute feeling of interest as her hair was combed out and finally sprayed with lacquer. She simply didn’t understand what it was that had entered into her, but she had decided to have her hair cut short, and as the young woman in a pink coat held up a hand-mirror for her to view the result from all angles she wanted first to gasp, and then to applaud.

The young woman in the pink coat had certainly brought about a transformation. Alison’s pale golden hair was feathered and fringed, and it sat so neatly in at the nape of her neck that she wondered why, for years, she had hidden that nape with a close resemblance to a bun.

The assistant was delighted.

‘What about a special make-up to go with the new hair-style?” she suggested. “A quick facial and a set of new cosmetics to take home. I would recommend a slight re-shaping of the eyebrows and a skin tonic to tone up the skin. Not that you haven’t a very lovely skin,” she added generously, since she was about the same age as Alison.

Alison hesitated.

“How long would it take?” she asked.

“Not more than half an hour. Why, have you a lot of shopping to do?”

“Yes,” Alison answered decisively, “I have.” And then she added, “But I can skip lunch. Go ahead. I’m getting a little tired of the way I look. I want people to be surprised sometimes because I’m a good cook!”

The assistant elevated her eyebrows, but decided not to pursue the matter. Most people were proud of being able to cook, even if they didn’t look like cooks, but apparently this young woman was not. She started to work miracles with her fingertips.

Released from the salon, Alison made for a little dress shop in the High Street. She went straight in and asked to be shown something with a modern line, but if possible not too short. Here again the assistant was most helpful, and while not quite understanding why such an attractive young woman was anxious to conceal such an exceptionally pretty pair of knees brought forth garment after garment from her glass-fronted cupboards, and finally had the satisfaction of being asked to parcel up three of them. Then Alison went round examining various confections that were draped on models, and bought herself a dressing-gown in pastel pink edged with lace, some frothy nightwear, underwear, and several pairs of stockings—not the sort of stockings in which she would have normally faced the winter.

Then, having written out rather a large cheque, she went next door and asked to see footwear. Here again she plunged for the unsuitable rather than the suitable ... the impractical rather than the practical. The slippers to go with the dressing-gown were the most frivolous pair she had ever possessed, the high-heeled court shoes made the most of her slender instep. And because, by this time, she was feeling really reckless, she bought boots in bright red leather, and—as a final challenging gesture to fate—golden-brown suede walking shoes that were so expensive she felt she was deliberately tempting Providence, and finally walked out of the shop literally staggering under her load of parcels.

Two of the dresses were to be sent on, and so were two pairs of shoes. But, even so, she found it difficult to make her way to the car-park, and once there she was stacking her parcels away in the boot when she realised that it was Mr. Minty who was carefully locking the door of his ancient Morris and looking across the car-park at her in unconcealed amazement.

“It
is
Mrs. Fairlie, isn’t it?” he said, in some doubt, as he walked across to greet her. He adjusted his spectacles as if he suspected his eyes might be playing him tricks. “Ah—er—you must forgive me, but my eyes are not as good as they once were...”

Alison beamed at him, much as she had beamed at the assistant in the hairdresser’s.

“Yes, of course it’s me, Mr. Minty,” she said with great cheerfulness. “But I’m not surprised you thought I might be someone else because I’ve been having myself refurbished, as it were, and I honestly don’t feel like myself any longer. For one thing, I’ve had my hair cut.”

“It’s charming.” The solicitor, generally thought to be dried-up and certainly not a connoisseur of her sex, smiled as if her skin tonic was having a tonic effect on him. “I know you won’t mind if I say so, but it does make you seem—er—much younger.”

“How much younger?”

Alison waited breathlessly for his reply, and it came at last, with the same gallant smile:

“As young as your youngest stepdaughter.”

“Flatterer!” Alison accused softly. But she was pleased, because she knew it wasn’t all flattery. “I’ve been doing a lot of shopping, and I’m just going home,” she told him.

“Charles Leydon is still at the Hall?”

“Yes. He’s making a good recovery.”

“I’m not surprised, as he had you to look after him.” Mr. Minty continued to fumble with his glasses, but he was doing so now to conceal awkwardness, and because he wanted to make a suggestion. “I don’t know whether you’ve had lunch.” He glanced at the town clock, which said that it was a quarter to two. “But I’m rather late for it myself—a late client, you understand?—and if you haven’t already done so I wonder whether you be so kind as to—well, to have some with me? A small return for all that marvellous endeavour the night Charles and I inflicted ourselves on you ... with the result that he’s still doing that very thing!”

Alison hesitated.
knowing
what she did know, she ought to be climbing into her car and rushing back to Leydon. But because she knew what she did know she decided, perversely, to take time over the return to Leydon, and fortify herself before she did so. It was terribly kind of Mr. Minty to ask her to lunch, but she knew it wasn’t all kindness. She had almost bowled him over with her new appearance, and even a faded and dried-up solicitor liked to be seen with a smart woman occasionally.

It did something for his morale ... might even help to restore it. She recalled how carelessly Charles had used him during that first visit of theirs to the great house which now belonged to Charles, and how nervous Mr. Minty was in his presence. Such a very important client, who had to be humoured all along the line, and deferred to constantly.

Recalling that day Alison was aware of a feeling like indignation rising within her, and she was terribly sorry for Mr. Minty because Charles Leydon was such a very valuable client of his. He couldn’t afford to be rude to him—even to speak his mind—and Leydon took advantage of it.

He felt he was being very magnanimous when he asked him to dinner with him that night, having first exposed him to the dangers of chills—which he apparently collected himself—on the roof-top, and in the unaired rooms. She bit her lip, feeling that same sensation of anger rush up over her that had rushed over her that morning when Mr. Minty had looked blue with cold.

She had looked blue with cold herself, and therefore they had a bond which must, and did, draw them together ... She decided to accept the solicitor’s kind invitation and lunch with him.

They went to the Royal, which was well known to provide its customers with an excellent lunch and dinner, and following a glass of sherry in the lounge had roast pork and apple sauce, followed by more apples contained in a tart, cream, cheese and biscuits. And coffee.

When the coffee was brought to their table in the dining-room Mr. Minty daringly suggested a liqueur. But Alison shook her head.

“I have to drive myself home,” she said, with a grateful smile, all the same. “And I’ve already had sherry, don’t forget! Besides, it’s been a wonderful lunch, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. I was going to skip lunch altogether, but you managed to convince me that that would be a silly thing to do.”

“A very silly thing to do.” Mr. Minty seemed quite hypnotised by the rose-leaf quality of her skin. “I hope you’ll forgive an old man if he sounds impertinent, but I never would have believed that a—a haircut, did you say...?”

“A trim, shampoo and set,” Alison enlightened him, with a small smile.

“Well, whatever it was they did to you, it was certainly well worth the time you devoted to them. You are, of course, an attractive young woman ... exceptionally attractive, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”

“Thank you,” Alison murmured.

“And I can’t help feeling that it isn’t quite the kind of life you ought to lead ... tucked away as you are at Leydon Hall, with three young stepdaughters to look after...”

“Don’t worry.” Alison smiled at him. “The stepdaughters are growing up fast, and it won’t be long before they won’t need much looking after. But that’s a day I’m not looking forward to, because I love having them with me. However, I am inclined to agree with you that—well, there isn’t such a
vast
amount of difference in our ages, and I don’t
have
to stay at Leydon Hall ... not always.”

‘There are lots of other things you could do, surely?” Mr. Minty suggested. “With your looks, and your ability to—to serve the most delectable meals—”

‘I might go out as a cook? No, I don’t think so.” Alison watched him pay the bill, and shook her head firmly. “If I ever have to take a job it won’t be as a cook, Mr. Minty,” she assured him. “Never a cook!” Then, while he looked mildly surprised because she sounded so emphatic, she asked him a question that had been trembling on her lips for some time. “Have you any idea what Mr. Leydon’s secretary, Miss Prim, looks like?”

Mr. Minty shook his head.

“I’m afraid I haven’t. No idea at all.”

Alison looked across the table at him. “She’s coming to spend the night with us,” she explained. “She was catching the eleven-five from Euston this morning, and I really ought to be there to welcome her, so I’ll have to hurry. Mr. Leydon says she’ll probably stay for a few days.”

“Oh, dear!” Mr. Minty sounded sympathetic. “Someone else for you to put up, and prepare meals for. No wonder you’re getting tired of cooking.”

Alison regarded him wryly.

“If it was only just the cooking—” she began; and then she decided to say no more.

After putting her into her car, and listening to her thanks, the solicitor swept off his hat. It betrayed the fact that he was very bald, but Alison didn’t notice the baldness just then.

“If I might put forward a suggestion, Mrs. Fairlie,” he said, looking at her with so much undisguised admiration and appreciation in his eyes that she felt quite taken aback, “it is that you put the idea of taking any sort of a job right out of your mind, and contemplate marrying again. I certainly think you should marry again!”

Words failed Alison. She just smiled at him, and started up the Mini.

By the time she turned the car in at the main gates of Leydon Hall it was very nearly five o’clock. She had paused on the way to do some more shopping and hand a grocery order over the counter of the village shop—benefiting considerably by the advent of Charles Leydon; and she had also lingered to collect lamb chops and kidneys from the butchers. It occurred to her that she was taking the maximum amount of advantage of this free day of hers, and although part of her was anxious to get back inside the Hall another part was all for delaying the moment when she would be in a position to ask Margaret and Jenny, who were now working full-time at the Hall, whether everything was well with Mr. Leydon.

She had left careful instructions about his meals, and so forth, during her absence. The local taxi-man had received instructions to proceed to Murchester to meet the connection of the London train, due in about half-past five, to pick up Miss Prim. And she should really be hurrying to make absolutely certain that everything was in order for Miss Prim as well as her employer.

She thought, as always, as she proceeded up the drive, how utterly peaceful and pleasing the Hall looked in the last of the light. There was very little of it left, although the sky behind the Hall was still gently flushed with rose where the sun had disappeared. The rooks, in the tall elms, had settled down for the night, and the blackness of the elms was etched against the sky. With smoke ascending from the twisted Tudor chimneys and a first star caught up in the television aerial above her own round tower the effect was a little like a Japanese print, although the atmosphere at that hour was completely English.

Alison liked to think of the Hall standing for so many centuries, and she nursed a constant fear that it would not stand as it was for much longer. Yet she understood perfectly the problems attaching to the maintenance of such a rambling structure, to say nothing of the expense. Even if Leydon was a married man anticipating a large family he could not honestly be expected to settle down at Leydon Hall. For one thing, his interests lay in London, and at the moment he was not even married, let alone expecting a family.

There was always the possibility that he might convert a portion of it for his own use. If she was not occupying the south tower, which adjoined the wing where he was at present installed, a little time and thought and a generous amount of money would result in a most attractive corner of the great house becoming extremely habitable. What he would do with the rest of it she couldn’t think ... unless, as he seemed curiously set on doing, he turned it into flats.

No doubt a lot of people would be glad to take over flats at the Hall. And Leydon was an architect, a very clever and well-known architect. He could undertake the alterations himself, draw up the plans and specifications ... and would probably enjoy himself doing so.