Always And Forever (6 page)

‘No…' Mrs Bluett looked at him so fiercely that he felt obliged to add, ‘We have known each other for some time.' She smiled then, and he took his leave, followed by interested looks.

Stopping once more a hundred yards or so down the street, he got out of the car slowly and stood just for a moment looking at the house. It was red brick and plaster, solid and welcoming with its lighted windows. He crossed the pavement, walked up the short path to the front door and knocked.

Miss Parsons opened it. She stood looking at him with a severity which might have daunted a lesser man.

‘I have come to see Amabel,' observed the doctor mildly. He held out a hand. ‘Fforde— Oliver Fforde. Her mother gave me this address.'

Miss Parsons took his hand and shook it. ‘Thisbe Parsons. Amabel's aunt. She has spoken of you.' She looked round his great shoulder. ‘Your car? It will be safe there. And a dog?'

She took another good luck at him and liked what she saw. ‘We're just about to have a cup of tea. Do bring the dog in—he's not aggressive? Amabel's Cyril is here…'

‘They are already acquainted.' He smiled. ‘Thank you.'

He let Tiger out of the car and the pair of them followed her into the narrow hallway.

Miss Parsons marched ahead of them, opened a door and led the way into the room, long and low, with windows
at each end and an old-fashioned fireplace at its centre. The furniture was old-fashioned too, beautifully kept and largely covered by photos in silver frames and small china ornaments, some of them valuable, and a quantity of pot plants. It was a very pleasant room, lived in and loved and very welcoming.

The doctor, treading carefully between an occasional table and a Victorian spoon-back chair, watched Amabel get to her feet and heaved a sigh of relief at the pleased surprise on her face.

He said, carefully casual, ‘Amabel…' and shook her hand, smiling down at her face. ‘I called at your home and your mother gave me this address. I have to be in York for a day or two and it seemed a good idea to renew our acquaintance.'

She stared up into his kind face. ‘I've left home…'

‘So your stepfather told me. You are looking very well.'

‘Oh, I am. Aunt Thisbe is so good to me, and Cyril and Oscar are happy.'

Miss Parsons lifted the teapot. ‘Sit down and have your tea and tell me what brings you to York, Dr Fforde. It's a long way from London—you live there, I presume?'

The doctor had aunts of his own, so he sat down, drank his tea meekly and answered her questions without telling her a great deal. Tiger was sitting beside him, a model of canine obedience, while Cyril settled near him. Oscar, of course, had settled himself on top of the bookcase. Presently the talk became general, and he made no effort to ask Amabel how she came to be so far from her home. She would tell him in her own good time, and he had two days before he needed to return to London.

Miss Parsons said briskly, ‘We have high tea at six
o'clock. We hope you will join us. Unless you have some commitments in York?'

‘Not until tomorrow morning. I should very much like to accept.'

‘In that case you and Amabel had better take the dogs for a run while I see to a meal.'

It was dark by now, and chilly. Amabel got into her mac, put Cyril's lead on and led the way out of the house, telling him, ‘We can go to the top of the village and come back along the back lane.'

The doctor took her arm and, with a dog at either side of them, they set off. ‘Tell me what happened,' he suggested.

His gentle voice would have persuaded the most unwilling to confide in him and Amabel, her arm tucked under his, was only too willing. Aunt Thisbe was a dear, loving and kind under her brusque manner, but she hadn't been there; Dr Fforde had, so there was no need to explain about Cyril and Oscar or her stepfather…

She said slowly, ‘I did try, really I did—to like him and stay at home until they'd settled in and I could suggest that I might train for something. But he didn't like me, although he expected me to work for him, and he hated Cyril and Oscar.'

She took a breath and began again, not leaving anything out, trying to keep to the facts and not colouring them with her feelings.

When she had finished the doctor said firmly, ‘You did quite right. It was rather hazardous of you to undertake the long journey here, but it was a risk worth taking.'

They were making their way back to the house, and although it was too dark to see he sensed that she was crying. He reminded himself that he had adopted the role
of advisor and impersonal friend. That had been his intention and still was. Moreover, her aunt had offered her a home. He resisted a desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, something which, while giving him satisfaction would possibly complicate matters. Instead he said cheerfully, ‘Will you spend the afternoon with me tomorrow? We might drive to the coast.'

Amabel swallowed tears. ‘That would be very nice,' she told him. ‘Thank you.' And, anxious to match his casual friendliness, she added, ‘I don't know this part of the world, do you?'

For the rest of the way back they discussed Yorkshire and its beauties.

Aunt Thisbe was old-fashioned; the younger generation might like their dinner in the evening, but she had remained faithful to high tea. The table was elegantly laid, the teapot at one end, a covered dish of buttered eggs at the other, with racks of toast, a dish of butter and a home-made pâté. There was jam too, and a pot of honey, and sandwiches, and in the centre of the table a cakestand bearing scones, fruitcake, oatcakes and small cakes from the local baker, known as fancies.

The doctor, a large and hungry man, found everything to his satisfaction and made a good meal, something which endeared him to Aunt Thisbe's heart, so that when he suggested he might take Amabel for a drive the following day she said at once that it was a splendid idea. Here was a man very much to her liking; it was a pity that it was obvious that his interest in Amabel was only one of impersonal kindness. The girl had been glad to see him, and heaven knew the child needed friends. A pity that he was only in York for a few days and lived so far away…

He washed the dishes and Amabel dried them after their meal. Aunt Thisbe, sitting in the drawing room, could hear them talking and laughing in the kitchen. Something would have to be done, thought the old lady. Amabel needed young friends, a chance to go out and enjoy herself; life would be dull for her during the winter. A job must be found for her where she would meet other people.

Aunt Thisbe felt sharp regret at the thought of the holiday she would have to forego: something which Amabel was never to be told about.

Dr Fforde went presently, making his goodbyes with beautiful manners, promising to be back the following afternoon. Driving to York with Tiger beside him, he spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘Well, we can put our minds at rest, can we not, Tiger? She will make a new life for herself with this delightful aunt, probably find a pleasant job and meet a suitable young man and marry him.' He added, ‘Most satisfactory.' So why did he feel so dissatisfied about it?

He drove to a hotel close to the Minster—a Regency townhouse, quiet and elegant, and with the unobtrusive service which its guests took for granted. Tiger, accommodated in the corner of his master's room, settled down for the night, leaving his master to go down to the bar for a nightcap and a study of the city.

The pair of them explored its streets after their breakfast. It was a fine day, and the doctor intended to drive to the coast that afternoon, but exploring the city would give him the opportunity of getting to know it. After all, it would probably be in York where Amabel would find a job.

He lunched in an ancient pub, where Tiger was welcomed with water and biscuits, and then went back to the hotel, got into his car and drove to Bolton Percy.

Amabel had spent the morning doing the small chores Aunt Thisbe allowed her to do, attending to Oscar's needs and taking Cyril for a walk, but there was still time to worry about what she should wear for her outing. Her wardrobe was so scanty that it was really a waste of time to worry about it.

It would have to be the pleated skirt and the short coat she had travelled in; they would pass muster for driving around the country, and Dr Fforde never looked at her as though he actually saw her. It had been lovely to see him again, like meeting an old friend—one who listened without interrupting and offered suggestions, never advice, in the friendliest impersonal manner of a good doctor. He was a doctor, of course, she reminded herself.

He came punctually, spent ten minutes talking to Miss Parsons, suggested that Cyril might like to share the back seat with Tiger, popped Amabel into the car and took the road to the coast.

Flamborough stood high on cliffs above the North Sea, and down at sea level boats sheltered in the harbour. Dr Fforde parked the car, put the dogs on their leads and walked Amabel briskly towards the peninsula. It was breezy, but the air was exhilarating, and they seemed to be the only people around.

When they stopped to look out to sea, Amabel said happily, ‘Oh, this is marvellous; so grand and beautiful—fancy living here and waking up each morning and seeing the sea.'

They walked a long way, and as they turned to go back Dr Fforde said, carefully casual, ‘Do you want to talk about your plans, Amabel? Perhaps your aunt has already suggested something? Or do you plan to stay with her indefinitely?'

‘I wanted to ask you about that. There's a problem. You won't mind if I tell you about it, and perhaps you could give me some advice. You see I was told quite unwittingly, by Mrs Bluett who owns the village shop, that Aunt Thisbe had plans to spend the winter in Italy with a friend. I haven't liked to ask her, and she hasn't said anything, but I can't allow her to lose a lovely holiday like that because I'm here. After all, she didn't expect me, but she's so kind and she might feel that she should stay here so that I've got a home, if you see what I mean.'

They were standing facing each other, and she stared up into his face. ‘You can see that I must get a job very quickly, but I'm not sure how to set about it. I mean, should I answer advertisements in the paper or visit an agency? There's not much I can do, and it has to be somewhere Cyril and Oscar can come too.'

He said slowly, ‘Well, first you must convince your aunt that you want a job—and better not say that you know of her holiday. Go to York, put your name down at any agencies you can find…'He paused, frowning. ‘What can you do, Amabel?'

‘Nothing, really,' she said cheerfully. ‘Housework, cooking—or I expect I could be a waitress or work in a shop. They're not the sort of jobs people want, are they? And they aren't well paid. But if I could get a start somewhere, and also somewhere to live…'

‘Do you suppose your aunt would allow you to live at her house while she was away?'

‘Perhaps. But how would I get to work? The bus service is only twice weekly, and there is nowhere in the village where I could work.' She added fiercely, ‘I must be independent.'

He took her arm and they walked on. ‘Of course. Now, I can't promise anything, Amabel, but I know a lot of people and I might hear of something. Do you mind where you go?'

‘No, as long as I can have Cyril and Oscar with me.'

‘There is no question of your returning home?'

‘None whatever. I'm being a nuisance to everyone, aren't I?'

He agreed silently to that, but he didn't say so. She was determined to be independent, and for some reason which he didn't understand he wanted to help her.

He asked, ‘Have you some money? Enough to pay the rent and so on?'

‘Yes, thank you. Mother let me have the money in the tea caddy, and there is still some left.'

He decided it wasn't worth while asking about the tea caddy. ‘Good. Now we are going to the village; I noticed a pub as we came through it—the Royal Dog and Duck. If it is open they might give us tea.'

They had a splendid meal in the snug behind the bar: a great pot of tea, scones and butter, cream and jam, great wedges of fruitcake and, in case that wasn't enough, a dish of buttered toast. Tiger and Cyril, sitting under the table, provided with water and any tidbits which came their way, were tired after their walk, and dozed quietly.

He drove back presently through the dusk of late autumn, taking side roads through charming villages— Burton Agnes, with its haunted manor and Norman church, through Lund, with its once-upon-a-time cockpit, on to Bishop Burton, with its village pond and little black and white cottages, and finally along country roads to Bolton Percy.

The doctor stayed only as long as good manners dictated, although he asked if he might call to wish them goodbye the following morning.

‘Come for coffee?' invited Miss Parsons.

The stiff breeze from yesterday had turned into a gale in the morning, and he made that his excuse for not staying long over his coffee. When Amabel had opened the door to him he had handed her a list of agencies in York, and now he wanted to be gone; he had done what he could for her. She had a home, this aunt who was obviously fond of her, and she was young and healthy and sensible, even if she had no looks to speak of. He had no further reason to be concerned about her.

All the same, driving down the M1, he was finding it difficult to forget her. She had bidden him goodbye in a quiet voice, her small hand in his, wished him a safe journey and thanked him. ‘It's been very nice knowing you,' she had told him.

It had been nice knowing her, he conceded, and it was a pity that their paths were unlikely to cross in the future.

 

That evening Amabel broached the subject of her future to her aunt. She was careful not to mention Aunt Thisbe's holiday in Italy, pointing out with enthusiasm her great wish to become independent.

‘I'll never be grateful enough to you,' she assured her aunt, ‘for giving me a home—and I love being here with you. But I must get started somewhere, mustn't I? I know I shall like York, and there must be any number of jobs for someone like me— I mean, unskilled labour. And I won't stop at that. You do understand, don't you, Aunt?'