The Quiet Heart (10 page)

He didn’t seem to have a large amount of family pride, otherwise he would not have refused to make use of the title that was rightfully his. Instead of calling himself Mr. Leydon he would have called himself Sir Charles, and Alison thought it a form of inverted snobbery that he did not do so.

Probably the result of having lived for at least a part of his life in a new country like New Zealand ... new, that is, by comparison with the British Isles, with all its history and traditions.

Alison felt inclined to sigh as she drove up to the main door of the Hall. To-night, for the first time, she wondered how much longer she would be doing this.

The great front door was only locked at night, and she opened it and let herself in. Usually she slipped in by a side door, but to-night, with an expected visitor, she decided to take a look at the magnificent entrance hall, where the great swinging lantern that descended from the distant beams was already glowing softly.

She looked up at the faded banners of the Leydons, and watched them fluttering in a draught from the door that she had just closed. She noted that Margaret had obeyed her instructions and got a fire crackling on the great stone hearth. It was burning brightly, the logs—which were apple logs—giving off a delicious scent.

In the gallery above her she thought she heard a movement, but when she glanced upwards there was no one there. No one she could see, at any rate.

She went on along the echoing corridor to the south tower. Margaret, who was in the kitchen preparing vegetables—she and Jenny split the day between them, one being on duty while the other was off duty—looked up in a relieved fashion when she entered, and although the only thing Alison really noted was that the kettle was near to boiling on the stove, and a small tea-tray was awaiting her return, it did strike her vaguely that Margaret was rather more than ordinarily relieved because she was back.

Alison untied her head-scarf and cast it down on an oak settle. Margaret stared, and then she stared harder. She had been about to say something, but surprise altered the course of her words.

“Your hair! You’ve had your hair done!”

Alison ran her fingers through it. She felt a bit self-conscious.

“How do you like it?” she asked, almost defensively.

“Why, you look—you look younger than Miss Marianne! You look wonderful!” Margaret breathed. She had very little time for Marianne, who was inclined to order her about, but she was quite attached to Alison. It delighted her that there was this sudden transformation. “Oh, I’m so glad you decided to do something about yourself!” she exclaimed, perhaps not altogether tactfully, but Alison understood.

“Has everything gone smoothly while I was out?” she asked. It was the first time she had been out for a whole day since Leydon became part of the household, and she hadn’t really anticipated anything going wrong, but one never knew. “Has the car been sent to the station to pick up Miss Prim?”

“That’s what I was going to tell you,” Margaret replied, carrying her bowl of vegetable parings to the waste bin. “Miss Prim has arrived! Apparently she caught an earlier train, and she was here about four o’clock. She took a taxi herself, which brought her from the station.”

Alison rushed up to her room and hastily did her best to get rid of the set look that had been imparted to her hair. She brushed and she combed the short silken ends, but nothing she could do could restore that look of severe grooming that had been hers when she started out that morning.

For some reason, now that she had to come face to face again with Leydon, and she knew his secretary had arrived, she felt a sensation like near panic well over her because her appearance had altered drastically since breakfast, and the, very thought of witnessing the surprise in Leydon’s eyes when she entered his room—and perhaps seeing considerable astonishment in the eyes of Miss Prim—made her wonder how she could ever dare to enter the room, and if only she had an excuse for not doing so she would be glad of it.

But there was no excuse that she could think of, and although she had never been formally engaged to act as housekeeper to Charles Leydon she knew she had certain duties to perform. She had to welcome Miss Prim, make certain her room was comfortable, and that she had been served with tea. She also had to report to Charles Leydon that she was back.

When she entered his corridor she was still wearing the dress in which she had set out for Murchester that morning, because now that a crucial moment had arrived she knew that she couldn’t face being seen in a new dress as well as a new hair-style ... not at one and the same time. The new dresses could be worn later. But she was dismayed because she felt herself encompassed by a delicate perfume—a slim phial of which she had purchased—which had been sprayed on her before she left the beauty parlour, as she walked along the corridor, and as she tapped on the stout oak door it seemed to be rising up all around her in a positive cloud. If Charles Leydon was allergic to perfume—which he might well be—his nose would almost certainly wrinkle as soon as she entered the room.

But when she entered the room in response to his affably called permission for her to do so she found him looking so relaxed and pleased with himself that it was doubtful whether a waft of her perfume would have upset him. He didn’t even notice the hair-style—or at least, not immediately—as he reclined in his chair and a short, squat figure in a tweed coat and skirt and a very mannish hair-do sat perched on the corner of a chesterfield and regaled him with a highly entertaining story which she herself had only heard for the first time a day or so before.

This time it was Alison’s turn to stare. She simply couldn’t believe it. This homely, amiable-looking woman with nicotine stains on her fingertips simply couldn’t be the soft-voiced charmer who had so often spoken to her over the telephone when she rang Leydon’s London flat. It simply couldn’t be!

But even while the doubts were whirling round in her head and her whole expression betrayed her surprise Miss Prim jumped up from the chesterfield and came to meet her. She extended a hand—small, chubby, be-ringed—and Alison found her own hand gripped by it.

“Mrs. Fairlie?” But there was a query here, too. “I’m Rosalind Prim, and I gather you’re the one on whom all the burden of looking after Mr. Leydon has descended? I must say you’ve done a very good job, judging by the look of him. I expected to find him wasted and thin, and absolutely loathing being confined to the house. Instead of which he tells me he’s actually put on weight this past week, and in order to get him out of the house you’ll probably have to dislodge him with a shoe-horn. He tells me he’s completely comfortable, and I’m not surprised.”

She looked around her at the firelit room, with its vases of flowers and fresh chintz covers on the chairs and couches which Alison herself had laundered. The panelled walls were gleaming with polish—and that had meant a step-ladder to reach the inaccessible bits—and so was every item of furniture. There was no doubt about it, she and Mrs. Davenport had had a field day when they got the room ready.

“And such a charming room, too. I had an idea that everything here at the Hall was either enormous or about to disintegrate ... That,” she looked at her employer reproachfully, “was the impression Mr. Leydon gave me when he first arrived. It’s possible, I suppose, that he’s changed his mind about quite a lot of things since then,” and her eyes rested thoughtfully on Alison.

Alison stammered something in answer. Miss Prim’s eyes were by far and away her best feature, and they were really rather like Jessamy’s eyes ... large and dark and doe-like. But their expression was more complacent than the expression which normally dwelt in Jessamy’s.

“Did you have a good day, Alison?” Leydon enquired, looking round at her and studying her for a few moments still without betraying any symptoms of finding it difficult to recover from the shock. “Marianne, who brought me my lunch, said you were planning to do some shopping. Did you run to earth all the things you needed?”

Alison nodded. She was still inclined to stammer a little as she answered.

“I—I did do a little shopping...”

“Personal shopping?”

“Some of it was personal.”

There was a glimmer of a smile in his eyes as they rested on her hair. To her infinite relief he refrained from offering any comment.

“You deserved a day off, Alison.” But he sounded as if he regarded her as an employee to whom he owed a day off. “I was telling Prim what a wonderful nurse you are, and how badly you bullied your patients. I honestly don’t believe you would have let me get away with anything you didn’t approve of. However, I’m rapidly improving, and whatever Dr. Geddes may say to the contrary I shall be getting back to work before long. Prim and I can do a certain amount of work here, and if you’ll see to it that there’s a fire in the library from to-morrow onwards we can work there.”

Miss Prim looked doubtfully at Alison.

“But won’t that involve you in more work?” she demurred. “It seems to me, judging by the size of this place, that a regular army of domestic helpers wouldn’t be too much to keep it ticking over and looking more or less habitable.”

But Alison explained that normally the main part of the house was not even used, and now that Mr. Leydon had moved in she had the assistance of an excellent daily woman and a couple of girls from the village. It was true neither of the girls could cook, and neither did Mrs. Davenport. But Alison was not complaining about that.

Miss Prim looked at her sympathetically.

“You do the cooking?”

“I like cooking,” although this was only partially true.

“And I understand you did the bulk of the nursing when Mr. Leydon was really ill.”

“I supervised his treatment. But we all took it in turns to sit with him, and that sort of thing.”

“You have three stepdaughters who no doubt help you a great deal?”

Leydon laughed hollowly.

“Alison’s stepdaughters are all attractive, but apart from Jessamy they dislike being called upon to do very much. Jessamy is the exception.”

Miss Prim turned to him.

“Jessamy is the one you were talking to me about? The poor child who had polio?”

Leydon looked almost annoyed.

“A girl of nineteen is no longer a child,” he almost snorted, “and Jessamy’s a very lovely young woman. But she did have polio, and I intend to do everything I can to help her overcome an unfortunate limp that was the legacy of the complaint. It upsets me every time I see her making her way painfully across this floor, and more than that it disturbs me because she’s unable to lead a normal life. A girl like Jessamy should be having a gay and wonderful time. It’s the best time of her life! In a few years nothing will be quite the same, and this is a time to remember. Whatever it costs me I intend to make it memorable!”

Miss Prim and Alison exchanged glances. Miss Prim was quite noticeably surprised, and Alison wondered what in the world had possessed her to waste so much time in a beauty parlour that morning, and why she had yielded to the temptation to buy so many new clothes. And then it occurred to her that she could make them over to Jessamy if she didn’t wear them herself. She and Jessamy had the same sort of build. And if Leydon knew about the new clothes he would almost certainly think that it was Jessamy for whom a new outfit should have been bought.

With a distinct feeling of dreariness and depression Alison turned and walked out into the corridor with Miss Prim. She asked the latter, mechanically, whether her room was comfortable, and whether she had everything she needed. Miss Prim assured her that she had. She seemed to be rather deep in thought, and the two women trod the echoing corridor side by side.

They paused under the arch which gave access to the gallery, and Miss Prim turned to inspect a portrait on the wall. She said that it reminded her of Charles Leydon, and Alison also thought that it was very much like Charles, and gazed at it unconsciously whenever she passed close to it.

“So this is Charles’s new toy,” Miss Prim murmured, as she looked about her. “I wonder what he’ll do with it?”

“Haven’t you any idea?”

Miss Prim shook her head.

“He doesn’t discuss things like this with me ... but he’ll probably do so while I’m here. His ostensible reason for sending for me is because he’s got a lot of business he wants to get on with. I hardly think he’s up to serious work yet, but he may do some while I’m here. I’ve brought him one or two books he needed, and they’ll keep him occupied.”

“It will be good for him having you down here,” Alison remarked. “It’s been a little dull for him, I’m afraid. We’re all strangers, you see. We don’t know anything about his way of life.”

“His way of life,” the secretary told her, “is usually pretty hectic, but he’s not the type of man to make a lot of friends. He doesn’t seem to need them, somehow. However, I did think, perhaps, you might have been pestered by one of them. She and Charles were planning to get married a couple of years ago, but they broke it off. Two days ago she telephoned and asked to be put in touch with Charles, and I’m afraid I had to reveal where he was. He won’t thank me if she gets in touch with him ... However, on the other hand, he might. One can never tell with Charles.”

“You call him Charles,” Alison remarked, more for something to say than for any other reason.

Miss Prim smiled.

“I’m old enough to be his maiden aunt,” she said, smiling. “So why shouldn’t I call him Charles?”