A Mistletoe Kiss (14 page)

‘I don't think he likes me much,' Hetty said cautiously. ‘Though he thanked me for his cup of tea, and asked if I'd enjoyed my holiday. He's never been that friendly before.'

Miss Preece laughed. ‘He is really terribly awkward, for all he's extremely intelligent. Why, when you think we've worked together for almost eight years, and I still know practically nothing about his home or his background, you can see how very shy he is.'

‘I don't suppose he knows much about you, either …' Hetty was beginning when Miss Preece stopped abruptly, a hand flying to her mouth.

‘Did we lock the little side door?' she said, turning
round too quickly for a tall man approaching them at a smart pace along the pavement.

Hetty gave a warning shriek, but it was too late. Miss Preece cannoned into the man and crashed to the ground, scattering her possessions across the paving stones and giving a moan of pain as she did so.

The man who had collided with her only just managed to save himself from falling across her. Hetty dropped to her knees. ‘Oh, Miss Preece, are you all right? You went down with such a crash … I thought …' She glared up at the tall man and then began to try to lift the librarian to her feet, addressing the stranger as she did so. ‘It was your fault, dashing along the pavement at such a speed. Are you blind? You went straight into her; the least you can do now is help me to get her up!'

She managed to get her friend into a sitting position, but before she could do anything more the man bent down and addressed Miss Preece in a far from friendly tone. ‘For God's sake stand up, and stop sitting on the pavement like a street urchin! You're an intelligent woman and know very well you went down nice and easy. Come along now, get up. I'll give you a hand but I don't intend to carry you because you aren't injured, just shaken up, and I'm already late for my appointment.'

Miss Preece glared up at him and Hetty saw that her cheeks were flushed with annoyance and her eyes very bright with it. When she addressed the tall man, it was in an icy tone. ‘My young friend is right; if you
were in such a hurry to get to your appointment you should have been all the more careful to avoid other people. As for helping me up, you needn't bother. I can manage perfectly well by myself.'

‘Then why don't you?' the man said rudely. ‘Instead of still sitting there, looking quite ridiculous I might add, and dirtying the skirts of that rather smart coat.'

Hetty was so cross that she would have liked to slap him. She knew very well that Miss Preece would have a struggle to get up because of her club foot, which was wedged underneath her. If the stranger had been gracious, had apologised and tried to help her to her feet, Miss Preece could have got up easily enough, but as it was her pride, Hetty realised, would not allow her to admit that she needed help.

She was about to ask the man to go away when, with an impatient sigh, he reached down, put his hands beneath Miss Preece's armpits, and jerked her to her feet. Hetty grabbed Miss Preece's stick, which she'd been sitting on, and quickly put an arm round her friend's waist as she began to sway. Miss Preece started to speak, but then the man seemed to see the stick for the first time. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were a cripple,' he said, and even to Hetty's ear he sounded more critical than ashamed. ‘I still think you brought it on yourself, though, suddenly stopping the way you did, but I suppose I'd better accompany you home.'

This remark seemed to add steel to Miss Preece's backbone. She straightened into ramrod stiffness and glared at the stranger with even more hostility than he had shown to her. ‘Thank you, but I am
not
a cripple.
I merely use the stick when I'm overtired,' she said. ‘As for accompanying us, you will do no such thing. Good evening!'

The man started to expostulate, then turned away impatiently, saying over his shoulder: ‘All right, be independent, because that just goes to show that you aren't hurt at all.' He turned back towards them; he was not wearing a hat, but he raised a hand to his brow in mock salute. ‘I'd best leave you, madam, before your glare turns me into a pillar of salt.'

Hetty saw that her friend was fighting an urge to smile and presently she was able to do so, for the stranger had disappeared. However, when they began to walk, Hetty realised that Miss Preece had been too sanguine; she took one tottering step forward and gave an involuntary groan. ‘I – I think I've twisted my knee,' she said breathlessly. ‘Has that horrible man gone? Are you sure? I'd sooner die than accept assistance from such an uncouth and unpleasant person. But I'm afraid, Hetty my dear, that I shall have to prevail upon you to come at least as far as my front gate. If I have my stick and your shoulder to lean on, I think we'll manage, so if you wouldn't mind …'

‘Of course I wouldn't mind,' Hetty said at once, and as the two of them began their slow progress along the pavement she began to smile. ‘I wonder how he guessed you were an intelligent woman? No disrespect, Miss Preece, but sitting on the pavement, with your coat all dusty …'

Miss Preece giggled; there was no other way to
describe the sound which bubbled from her lips and it was the first time Hetty had heard her giggle, or known that she could. ‘I can't imagine,' she said. ‘One thing's for sure, though: if we ever meet again I'll know him right away, won't you?'

Hetty thought of the man who had knocked Miss Preece down. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped, curly dark hair grey-streaked at the temples, black eyes and olive skin. He had thick, black brows which met across the bridge of a Roman nose that had been broken at some stage, and his mouth and chin both proclaimed determination, even arrogance. He wasn't at all good-looking – he was downright ugly in fact – but Miss Preece was right: once seen, never forgotten, Hetty thought.

She began to say so, but soon all her energy had to be concentrated on helping Miss Preece stumble along the pavement in the direction of her home. It took time, but at last they reached Everton Terrace. Hetty swung open the front gate and would have turned away, but her companion clutched her arm and Hetty saw that the bright colour engendered by the stranger's rudeness had quite faded from her face, leaving her pale as milk. ‘Don't go, dear,' she said breathlessly. ‘I'll never get up the steps, let alone unlock the door and reach the nearest chair, without your help. Oh, poor Hetty! It was just my wicked pride which stopped me from letting that – that barbarian bring me home. And now it is you who are suffering.'

Hetty laughed, but shook her head. ‘Sit on the steps while you find the key in your handbag,' she instructed.
‘Then I'll let you in and help you along to your kitchen. I expect you'll want to go to the kitchen?'

‘Yes please,' Miss Preece said faintly, producing her front door key from the depths of her handbag. ‘My mother always waits for me there.'

‘Right,' Hetty said briskly, taking the key, inserting it in the lock and pushing the front door open. She had only once heard Miss Preece mention a mother, and had not realised that they lived together.

Miss Preece had managed to get to her feet as the front door opened and Hetty helped her to mount the steps. They entered the hall together, Hetty assisting the older woman out of her coat and shedding her own jacket at Miss Preece's command. As soon as the front door closed, however, a querulous voice could be heard. ‘Agatha? Aggie, is that you? Why are you so late? If you ever had a thought for anyone but yourself, you would know how worried I become when you're late. Do you know what time it is? I haven't even made myself a cup of tea, since I was expecting you every minute …'

The voice stopped abruptly as Hetty helped Miss Preece into the kitchen and sat her down on an upright kitchen chair before turning to look at the other occupant of the room. Hetty had formed no mental picture of the old woman, but now she saw that Mrs Preece was tiny, scarcely taller than she was herself. She had snowy white hair which she wore in a big soft bun on the nape of her neck, a softly wrinkled face, all pink and white, and snapping black eyes which were now flickering from her daughter to Hetty. ‘What's all this?'
the old lady said aggressively. She shot a repellent glance at her daughter. ‘Since when have you invited scruffy street urchins into my house? And what, pray, is the matter with you? I've not had my tea …'

Hetty was so indignant that she began to explain that Miss Preece had had an accident, but the librarian hushed her. ‘Mother gets irritable when she's worried; don't let it upset you, my dear,' she whispered. ‘If you'll just put the kettle on and make us all a drink, then I'll calm Mother down. Don't say anything about my fall' – she smiled rather wanly – ‘or I'll never hear the last of it.'

Hetty said she understood and went across to the cooker, lighting the gas beneath the kettle and giving Mrs Preece a curious glance as she passed her chair. She was wearing her school dress and thought she looked rather neat, so the old woman's description of her as a scruffy street urchin had hurt, but then she thought of the way Mrs Preece had spoken to her daughter and decided that she would concentrate on making the tea and escaping as soon as possible.

‘The tea caddy is on the mantelpiece and the milk is on the cold slab,' Miss Preece said, as the kettle came to the boil. ‘Can you manage, Hetty? Only I have a horrid feeling that if I stand up I might easily simply fall down again.'

‘Of course I can manage,' Hetty said cheerfully. ‘Only where is the cold slab?'

‘It's in the pantry,' Miss Preece said, pointing to a door to the left of the kitchen window. ‘And on the shelf above it you'll find a biscuit tin with a picture
of King George and Queen Mary on the lid. Put a selection on a plate and we'll all have a couple with our tea.'

Hetty did as she was asked, pouring the milk straight from the bottle into the three pretty cups that she had taken from the dresser. Then she replaced the milk bottle on the marble slab, ignoring Mrs Preece's remark that in this household one poured milk into a jug before bringing it out of the pantry.

Miss Preece, however, after several sips of tea, addressed her mother in a firmer voice than she had used since entering the house. ‘What rubbish, Mother,' she said briskly. ‘And it isn't even true, you know. It would only make for more washing up, and since such domestic tasks fall to my lot rather than yours, I wouldn't dream of filling a milk jug just in order to wash it up later.' She turned to Hetty. ‘What do you think of our house? I was born here, so I'm used to it, but I dare say you'd like to look round presently. I'm proud of our garden as well.'

Hetty began to say that she would like this very much but was interrupted by Mrs Preece, who had drunk her tea thirstily, crunched down several biscuits, and now dabbed at her chin with a pretty lace handkerchief which she produced from the sleeve of her purple wool dress. ‘Are you going to start our evening meal, Agatha?' she asked aggressively. ‘You've not invited this – this child to share it with us, I trust? Mrs Simpson made shepherd's pie with the cold mutton left over from the joint, but she didn't cook it; it's in the oven, awaiting your return.'
She chumbled her jaw impatiently. ‘And you've still not explained why you were so late, nor who this young person may be,' she added, and Hetty realised that the aggression had gone from the old woman's tone, to be replaced by bewilderment.

Miss Preece must have realised it too for she smiled at her mother, and when she replied it was in a softened tone. ‘I'm so sorry, Mother. How very rude you must think me. But the truth is, I slipped coming out of the library and twisted my knee. This young lady is Hetty Gilbert; she spends a good deal of time in the library, helping the staff when we are busy and reading or doing her homework there because the library is quiet. Today, she and I left the library together, and when I fell Hetty was on hand to give what help she could. In fact, without her I can't imagine how I would have got home.'

Mrs Preece sniffed, but gave Hetty a small and rather grudging nod. ‘I see. I suppose my daughter feels no need to tell you that I'm Mrs Preece and that this is my house,' she snapped. ‘However, we have now been introduced, which is something, I suppose.'

Miss Preece heaved a sigh. ‘You're not very generous, are you, Mother? We shall be very much in Hetty's debt if she'll be good enough to light the oven so that our supper can start to cook. And knowing Mrs Simpson there will be plenty for three, particularly since my fall has quite taken away my appetite.'

Hetty was on her way across to the oven, but at these words she turned quickly towards her friend. ‘It's all right, honestly, Miss Preece. My aunt will have
a meal on the table by now, so I shan't have to share your shepherd's pie,' she said. ‘Do you have a taper which I can use to reach the gas at the back of the oven? Only I don't fancy trying to light it with an ordinary match.'

Miss Preece began to reply, but then to Hetty's astonishment the old woman got creakily to her feet, stumped slowly across the kitchen and snatched the box of matches from her hand. She twisted the gas tap impatiently, lit the match, and tossed it into the oven. There was a mild explosion and a squeak from Miss Preece before the old woman shut the oven door firmly and returned to her chair, though not before Hetty had seen that the shepherd's pie was both large and luscious and could have fed three people easily.

‘That was rather dangerous, Mother,' Miss Preece said reprovingly. She turned to Hetty. ‘Thank you very much for all your help, and I do hope your aunt won't be worried when you're not in at your usual time. Are you sure she'll have kept a meal for you? Well, in that case, perhaps you'd better take your jacket and hurry home. Do tell your aunt …'

‘Not so fast, Agatha,' the old woman cut in peremptorily. ‘How do you think you're going to get up the stairs to your bed?
I
don't intend to risk my health trying to push a great girl like you up that steep flight.'