Celia's House (19 page)

Oliver came over the evening before her departure and inveigled her into the library for a chat.

“You're running away,” he said, smiling at her. “There's no need to run away from me. I shan't bother you, Deb.”

“You
are
bothering me,” she replied. “Everyone is bothering me.”

“I'll tell them not to,” said Oliver. “You know, Deb, I'm not asking you for much—just for us to be friends.”

“If it were only that!”

“I've said it's only that.”

“But you don't mean it.”

“Deb, listen—”

“No, I won't,” she declared. “We aren't suited to each other. I like you quite a lot, but I don't love you and I don't want to marry you.” Surely that was clear enough, thought Deb. Surely Oliver would understand that.

“You like me quite a lot; that's a good beginning,” Oliver said cheerfully.

Deb laughed—she couldn't help it—and Oliver laughed too. Oliver really was rather a dear. She was aware that if she had been heart-whole she might not have been able to resist him. She thought suddenly: if Mark and Tessa…
then
perhaps…because
then
it wouldn't matter…
then
nothing would matter anymore, and she would just have to try to build some sort of life for herself out of the broken pieces…and if Oliver were willing to have her on those terms…knowing everything…

“I'll wait,” Oliver was saying. “I'll wait years if necessary, and, meantime, I'll be very, very good. I've started to be good already and I'm up to my eyes in work connected with the estate. New roofs for the cottages, new drains—all that sort of thing pleases you, doesn't it? Think of all the things we could do if only you would help me—but no, we're not going to say another word about it. We're just going to be friends.”

• • •

In spite of the fact that Deb was leaving of her own accord, her last view of Dunnian was blurred by a mist of tears. She was leaving everything and everybody she loved and going to a strange place. She knew quite well that when she returned to Dunnian, Mark and Tessa would be officially engaged—there was no doubt about it in Deb's mind—and they would not be happy, or at least not for long. Sooner or later Mark would find out what Tessa was like, but he would not find out until she became careless…

During the journey Deb gave rein to her misery, but when the end of her long, tiring journey came in sight she made an effort to pull herself together, for it would not be right to arrive at Milton Terrace looking sad and woebegone. She was determined to be a bright and cheerful guest.

Henrietta Lacey was old now—she was over eighty—but she was still full of energy and life, still interested in all that went on around her. She welcomed her granddaughter affectionately.

“At last!” she cried. “Here you are at last! I thought I was never going to see you, my dear. Let me look at you…yes, you're a real Dunne—very like what I was at your age. I daresay you don't believe that I was once a pretty young girl.”

Deb found this quite easy to believe, for Henrietta was a very pretty old lady with a strong resemblance to the portrait of Great-Great-Aunt Celia that hung in Mrs. Raeworth's studio.

“I shall take you everywhere,” continued Henrietta, nodding portentously. “We'll go to the concerts together—in the Winter Garden, you know—and I shall ask my friends to meet you. They aren't all old, like myself, so it won't be too dull for you. We're going to have a lovely time together…”

They did. Deb would not have believed it possible that she could enjoy this visit to her grandmother, but she found it extremely pleasant to be petted and feted and proudly displayed. It was a new experience and it did her a lot of good.

They went out a great deal, for Henrietta was sociable and popular, but sometimes in the evening they sat alone in Henrietta's little drawing room and sewed and talked, and gradually Deb was able to tell this old lady all her troubles (not in plain straightforward words but by hints and implications), and Henrietta listened and nodded and occasionally dropped a word or two of good advice. There was wit and wisdom in Henrietta, and Deb recognized this, enjoying the one and profiting by the other.

They were talking about Mark one evening. “Mark has got a fixed idea of you,” Henrietta said. “He doesn't see you clearly because he's too accustomed to you. You're his sister and that's all there is about it. When people get fixed ideas dynamite is the only thing to move them.”

“Yes,” Deb said thoughtfully.

“Don't take second best,” continued Henrietta, shaking her head. “Just wait patiently and see what happens—but don't wait too patiently either. People are apt to take you at your own valuation. I mean, if you lie down on the floor and look like a doormat, people can't be blamed for wiping their boots on you.”

Deb laughed—but she knew it was true.

Mark was seeing Tessa nearly every day. He was almost certain that she loved him, but he had made up his mind that it would not be fair to ask her to marry him until he had something definite to offer her. He could not marry Tessa and continue with his hospital work—that was impossible. He must resign his appointment and look for something else. One night, when his mother had gone to bed and he and his father were sitting in the drawing room together, Mark opened the subject in a tentative manner.

“I thought you liked the job at the hospital,” Humphrey said.

“Yes,” said Mark. “Yes, I like it, but I think it's time now—I mean, if I could settle in a country district—perhaps not too far from Dunnian.”

“I should like that,” said Humphrey. “It would be a great relief to my mind if I knew you were within reach. I'm a little worried about your mother—”

Mark was worried too. There was nothing definite the matter with Alice, but she seemed languid and tired and sometimes very muddled in her mind. She was only about fifty years old, but she looked—and seemed—a good deal older. Mark had noticed a great difference in her since last year.

“It would be nicer to be near home and in the country,” Mark said.

Humphrey nodded. “Of course it would. Not only because you like the country and want to be near home, but for other reasons as well.”

Mark looked at him in surprise.

“You think I'm blind,” Humphrey declared with a chuckle, “but I can see as far as most bats and it wouldn't take very good eyesight to guess your secret. It's Tessa, isn't it? She's charming. I'd like to see you married to Tessa, old boy.”

“I don't know how you've guessed! I mean,” stammered Mark. “I mean—I thought—I didn't know—and of course I haven't said anything yet to—to Tessa, but I think—I think it will be all right.”

Humphrey nodded. “I'm sure it will be all right.”

“I wanted to see my way first,” continued Mark. “I wanted to know what I was going to do. I couldn't go on at the hospital—”

“No, of course not. We'll buy a partnership.”

“Dad!” exclaimed Mark. “That would be marvelous! Are you sure you could afford it?”

“Perfectly certain. Some of my investments have turned up trumps. We'll look about. I know nothing about these things. Can we advertise, or what?”

“Dad, it's most awfully generous of you. I've cost you so much already.”

“Nonsense, what's money for? I'd like to see you comfortably settled.”

“My idea was to go as an assistant.”

“No good,” declared Humphrey. “No good at all. You must have something to offer Tessa. She's used to having things nice.”

This was so true that Mark could make no further objections, nor did he want to. His heart was surging with delight; his face shone like the sun. If Humphrey had wanted repayment for his generosity he was well repaid when he looked at his son's face.

“Do you think I should ask her now?” Mark asked eagerly.

“You're the best judge of that,” responded Humphrey, smiling. “Personally I think I should wait. You'll have something definite to offer her when we've fixed up the partnership.”

“Yes,” agreed Mark. “Yes, I believe that's the right way to do it.”

“Send in your resignation at once,” advised Humphrey. “It will do you good to have a holiday before starting your new work. You haven't had a proper holiday for years.”

Humphrey was not the sort of person to let the grass grow under his feet; he set about the task of finding Mark a partnership without more ado, and very soon his efforts bore fruit. He was all smiles when he called Mark into the library and handed him a letter that had come that morning.

“Here we are,” said Humphrey. “Here's the very thing. Dr. Anderson wants a partner—he's the GP at Timperton.”

“At Timperton!” exclaimed Mark.

“Yes, it's splendid, isn't it? We've had letters from Fife and Ross-shire and goodness knows where else—and all the time there was
this
at our very door. It's almost too good to be true. Your mother knows all about Dr. Anderson. The Murrays swear by him. You had better take the car and go over and see him at once.”

“Perhaps he wants someone older,” said Mark, for to him the thing seemed
much
too good to be true.

“No, he doesn't,” replied Humphrey. “Read the letter, Mark. He says his practice has grown too big for him and he wants a young active man as a partner—it's the very thing for you.”

An hour later Mark was well on his way to Timperton, driving quickly with the wind whistling in his ears. He still felt dubious about the post. He would not let himself think about it—there must be some snag. Things did not happen like that, thought Mark; ripe fruit did not drop into one's mouth. He had enjoyed his hospital work, but he had always felt an exile, and not only an exile from his home, but an exile from the country. Bricks and mortar, the smell of petrol, and the bustle and noise of London depressed his spirit and sapped his energy. He had had constant headaches and he could not sleep properly. It was the country Mark loved, green fields and trees and hills, quietness, peace, and plain, wholesome country food—and he loved country pursuits: a day on the river with his rod, or on the hill with his gun.

Timperton was larger than Ryddelton, and it had grown a good deal in the last few years. There were villas and bungalows on the outskirts of the little town and bigger houses with lovely gardens on the hill. The main street was wide, for a market was held here once a month, and farmers came in from the country and stalls were erected to sell vegetables and fruit and flowers. Down the middle of the street there were trees growing that gave a pleasant shade, and at the other end of the street stood the doctor's house.

Mark rang the bell and waited, fingering his tie. He was very anxious about this interview, for so much depended on it. Humphrey had warned him not to be too humble, for that would be a mistake; on the other hand it would be equally disastrous to be too brassy.

Dr. Anderson was in. He had just finished consulting, and when Mark was shown into the consulting room, he was washing his hands at the sink. He was tall and very thin with stooping shoulders and sandy gray hair, and his eyes were light blue and keen and piercing.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he inquired, smiling kindly. “I don't think I've seen you before, have I?”

“No,” replied Mark. “I'm not a patient. You wrote a letter to my father.”

Dr. Anderson nodded. “Of course! You're Dunne. I didn't get the name. Sit down, I'm very glad to see you.”

“I thought I'd come,” said Mark, taking a chair. “Of course you'll want to see my credentials and go into everything thoroughly, but I thought it would be a good plan to come over and see you first.”

“A very good plan,” Dr. Anderson agreed.

They began to talk. Mark explained what he had been doing and why he wanted a change. “London doesn't suit me,” said Mark.

“I hope you're strong,” said Dr. Anderson, looking at him critically. “You don't look very strong.”

“I'm perfectly fit,” declared Mark. “I need a holiday, that's all. I don't suppose you would want me at once—”

“No,” Dr. Anderson said doubtfully. “No, I daresay my assistant could stay on for a few weeks longer. It isn't so difficult in the summer; it's the winter that bothers me really. The practice is large and scattered. There are farms up the glen. I really need someone experienced to take some of the responsibility.”

“I'm not afraid of work,” said Mark. “I've had a good deal of responsibility.”

“Are you married?”

“Not yet,” Mark said, blushing. “I hope—perhaps—soon—”

“Good,” said Dr. Anderson. He smiled and all at once he seemed more human. Mark liked his smile.

“I'm not married,” continued Dr. Anderson. “My two sisters live with me and look after things, but it's a good thing for a doctor to be married—especially in a small place like this; it saves a lot of bother.”

Dr. Anderson sat down and began to talk more seriously. He talked well, describing the district and explaining how Timperton had grown and spread in the last few years and his practice with it. He showed Mark his books, his accounts, and the ledger in which he kept a list of his patients. It was all extremely clear and businesslike. “There's ample work for two doctors here,” Mark declared at last.

“That's why I need a partner,” replied Dr. Anderson. “The fact
is
this place is full of retired people, elderly people who have broken down in health and suffer from digestive troubles.”

“Good!” Mark exclaimed somewhat callously. “I mean,” he added. “I mean, I'm very much interested in the digestive organs; in fact, I thought I might specialize someday.”

“You'll get plenty of experience here.”

“Good,” Mark said again.

“I've been carrying on with an assistant,” continued Dr. Anderson, “but I'm not as strong as I was, and I must have someone able and willing to take some of the responsibility off my shoulders.”

“Do you think I'm too young?”

“I don't think so. You have a serious air.” Dr. Anderson smiled. “A serious air takes you a long way. You inspire confidence. I want someone young and up-to-date. I believe we could get on very well together.”

Mark thought so too. He was very favorably impressed. Of course, there were inquiries to be made on both sides and the price of the partnership to be arranged, but Mark had a feeling everything would be settled satisfactorily.

He was invited to stay to tea and to meet the doctor's sisters, Miss Anderson and Miss Mary Anderson. They were twins and so alike that it was difficult to know them apart—two small, round twittering women of the age usually described as “uncertain”—and they talked in chorus, agreeing with one another and with everyone else as well.

“It will be so nice for Alan to have you.”

“He needs someone to help him.”

“We must look for comfortable rooms for you.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Walker—”

“Yes, she will be the best.”

“So nice and clean—”

“And such a good cook.”

Mark, when he could get a word in edgewise, explained that nothing was settled yet. He could not help smiling at the Misses Anderson's way of talking, for their voices—as well as their appearances—were alike, and if you had shut your eyes you might have thought it was one person speaking instead of two. He wondered if they had two minds or only one mind between them; it was an interesting problem.

“Rooms are not satisfactory,” Dr. Anderson was saying. “You should rent a small house; that gives you a proper status at once. It's very important in a country district like Timperton to have a proper status. My assistant lives in rooms, of course, but that's different. We must make it clear from the very beginning that you are a partner.”

Mark saw the point. “Yes,” he said doubtfully. “Yes, but what about a house—and servants—and all that?”

“As a matter of fact I happen to know of a house that might suit you—”

“The Browns',” cried the two Miss Andersons.

“Yes, the Browns'. It's small but well-built and nicely furnished and it has a small garden facing south. They would let it for a couple of years, I think.”

“You can see it!” cried one Miss Anderson.

“We'll go around after tea!” cried the other.

Mark thought there was no harm in seeing the house. It did not bind him in any way, so he signified his willingness to look at it, and after tea he was escorted down the street by the doctor's sisters. They walked one on each side of him and continued to talk eagerly about the amenities of Timperton. There was a tennis club, badminton, and an excellent golf course. They were sure he would be happy here. They would help him to move in, find maids for him, tell him the best shops. It was obvious that they were very anxious for him to come—and to come soon—but this was not surprising, for Dr. Anderson was quite unfit to carry on alone.

The house was delightful. It was not large, but it was pretty and comfortable and had individuality, for it had been built by an architect for himself. The floors were of inlaid wood, and the doors and wainscotings were of unpainted wood, waxed and polished. On the first floor there was a sitting room and a dining room—both of which had bow windows facing south and looking out onto the garden—and a small room at the back that would do as a consulting room. Upstairs there were two very nice bedrooms and a bathroom. The servants' quarters were at the back.

Mark was charmed with the house; he drove home feeling very pleased with life. Everything was falling into place like the pieces in a well-made jigsaw puzzle; there was no snag anywhere. If the price of the partnership could be arranged—and he felt pretty certain it could—he would be settled in a congenial post and could speak to Tessa with a clear conscience. They would not be well off, of course, but they would have enough to live on very comfortably.
I'll telephone
, thought Mark, who could wait no longer to tell Tessa his news.
I'll ask her to meet me tomorrow at the Peel Tower. There's nothing to keep us apart anymore.