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“I’ve arranged with Malvern that your car shall be driven over some time this afternoon,” he told her briskly. “He couldn’t say just when, but he guaranteed that it would come.”

“Thank you,” Meg said in a small, distant voice, and realised that Aunt Ellen was looking at her with shrewd, curious eyes. With a sinking heart she realised that her aunt had lost no time in picking up that relations were strained between Meg and Hector. What was more, she would want to know the reason for that. But that, too, would have to wait, and Meg was not at all sure if she was grateful to Hector or the very reverse for not having explained the situation to Aunt Ellen.

Mrs Laidlaw now suggested that perhaps Aunt Ellen would like to see her room and once again apologised because her limited accommodation prevented her from offering a separate room.

“What is so vexing is that actually, at the moment, I’ve got another spare room,” she explained. “Because Fiona, my young cousin who’s living with me for an indefinite period, has gone off unexpectedly for a visit to friends and I have no idea when she’ll be returning. It might be today or it might not be for some weeks, I simply don’t know. Really rather naughty of her, but—”

The two older ladies left the sitting room and Meg drew a little sigh of relief. On top of all the other complications, having to live at close quarters with Fiona would be just the last straw. She fervently hoped that the visit would turn out to be a long one!

Promptly at the time he had promised, Hector gave a single toot on the car’s horn and Aunt Ellen and Meg went down to join him in the courtyard. Naturally Aunt Ellen had the more comfortable seat beside Hector and so, to Meg’s relief, she was able to sit in the back of the car. Not only did it mean that she was not in such close contact with Hector but also that she didn’t need to make any conversation. That she could leave to Aunt Ellen.

When they reached the hospital they were told that Mr. Messiter, the consultant, had already seen Uncle Andra and would like to see Mrs Farmer or Miss Ainslie before they left. In the meantime, they could both see Mr Ainslie, but only for a short time and on the understanding that nothing must be done to excite or distress him. He had already been told that his sister was coming.

Because of the need for a constant watch to be kept on his condition he had not been given a private room, but the curtains had been drawn on either side of his bed and so, except for nurses passing up and down the ward, they were shielded from interested and curious eyes.

Uncle Andra, propped up on a pile of pillows, looked very different from what he had done the previous night. His colour was more normal and his breathing more natural, but with a pang Meg saw that the left comer of his mouth was slightly twisted and when he opened his eyes, the left lid drooped a little. She knew what that meant as, of course, did Aunt Ellen. The stroke had produced some degree of paralysis, though probably it was too soon to say how much. It was noticeable, however, that while he occasionally moved his right hand, his left lay inert on the bedcover.

Meg had never admired her aunt more than she did during that short visit. She would not let her own anxiety for her brother’s condition show at all. All that she thought of was what was best for him. Her voice was gentle and sympathetic, but it gave no hint of fear and somehow, without words, her manner conveyed to Uncle Andra a feeling of her strength and reliability— she gave him something he could hold on to. And that he was doing just that was clear from the way in which his eyes never left Aunt Ellen’s face. Meg was not at all sure that he realised she was there.

A little later they were told that Mr Messiter was ready to see them and they were taken to a small office where a tall, distinguished man was waiting for them. He shook hands with both of them and then, sympathetically but very directly, told them just how things were with Uncle Andra—so far.

“He’s weathered this first day very well,” he explained. “And that in itself is encouraging. But it’s no use pretending that he’s out of danger. Nor will he be for several more days at least. After that—” he paused to look enquiringly at Aunt Ellen. “I expect you realised that there’s some degree of paralysis of the left side?”

“Yes,” Aunt Ellen said briefly.

“Yes,” Mr Messiter repeated regretfully. “It’s obvious, of course. And this is the most difficult thing that I have to tell you. It will be some weeks before it’s possible to say to what degree that condition will improve —or indeed if it will improve. I’m sorry, but I’m sure that you would prefer me to tell you the truth, Mrs Farmer, and that’s what I’ve done. I can assure you that everything possible will be done to help Mr Ainslie, but in these cases, so very much depends on the damage which has been done and even the most modem of our techniques cannot repair that. I’m truly sorry—”

For a moment Aunt Ellen didn’t speak. She sat very still, her lips pressed close together. Then she said quietly:

“Does my brother know?”

Mr Messiter hesitated.

“At this stage, I doubt it. But as his condition improves, he can hardly fail to realise his limitations, and his own professional knowledge means that he’s practically certain to appreciate the significance of that. Excuse me—” as the desk telephone rang. “Yes, Sister?” He listened attentively for a moment or so. Then he said: “That’s good, Sister. Thank you for letting me know,” and rang off. “Sister rang to let me know that Mr Ainslie has dropped off into natural sleep and seems all the better for your visit, Mrs Farmer. I can see you’re going to be of inestimable value to our patient! How long will you be staying in the neighbourhood?”

“As long as I’m needed,” Aunt Ellen said quietly. “My husband and I agreed on that before I left home.”

“Good!” Mr Messiter said appreciatively, and stood up. He walked with them down the corridor and so to the door outside which Hector was waiting with the car. The two men' exchanged friendly salutes and Mr Messiter turned to Aunt Ellen. "You’ve got a good friend there, Mrs Farmer. I don’t know anyone who is more to be relied on in circumstances like this than Hector Heronshaw! Well, good-bye—and don’t give up hope. I certainly haven’t.”

Apart from the fact that Aunt Ellen gave Hector a brief account of what Mr Messiter had said, the journey back was a silent one and Meg had plenty of time to think over those last few remarks of the consultant Hector was a person on whom one could rely, but that didn’t make the thought of her inevitable interview with him any more reassuring. He would, she was beginning to realise, expect other people to live up to the standards he himself did—and he had no reason to think that, so far, she had. None the less, she lingered for a moment when they reached the house and as soon as Aunt Ellen was out of earshot, she said, rather shakily:

“Can I see you—alone—this evening?”

He gave no sign of surprise at the request.

“Certainly,” he said matter-of-factly. "Will you come to my study after dinner? You can either cut across the courtyard to that door—” he indicated the one he meant “Or, if you prefer it, turn left along the corridor to the stairs you’ll find there. They lead to the big hall. You know the way to my study from there, don’t you?”

Meg nodded and ran quickly after Aunt Ellen who, to her relief, didn’t ask what she had wanted to say to Hector, Nor, in fact, did she ask the questions which Meg had feared she would about Hector and herself. Perhaps, with all that had happened since, she had at least temporarily forgotten that, for she seemed content just to sit quietly with Mrs Laidlaw, sometimes recalling the girlhood they had shared but equally at ease if conversation flagged. It was easy to see that they had picked up their old friendship as if the long interval since they had last met had never been, and Meg felt that probably Mrs Laidlaw could give Aunt Ellen the support she needed just now better than anyone else could have done.

It was almost nine o’clock before Meg slipped out of the sitting room, her departure hardly noticed by the two older women. She had already decided to go to Hector’s study by the indoor route since this would mean that she would neither need to slam the downstairs door on her way there nor knock for admittance on her
return. She found her way without difficulty, though it did occur to her that Heronshaw House was something of a rabbit warren in plan. Probably, she thought, the wings had been added at a later date to the main part of the house, and this, she was later to find out, was the case.

The door of Hector’s study was open and as she came in he stood up, but there was no welcome in his face. It was, in fact, controlled to the point of being utterly expressionless.

He had been sitting at the big desk which was covered with forms and papers of all shapes and sizes at which he had been working and with no more than a slight inclination of the head to greet her, he indicated a chair on the other side of the desk. Then, as she sat down, he followed suit—and waited.

Meg gulped down an obstruction in her throat and surreptitiously crossed her fingers as they lay on her lap.

“I’ve come to apologise,” she blurted out.

And still Hector waited.

“For having accused you of being responsible for Uncle Andra’s stroke,” she went on, her heart sinking. He
was
going to extract his pound of flesh! And he wasn’t going to help her out in the least. “Agnes told me the real reason why the builder couldn’t come today,” she ploughed on resolutely. “I—I ought not to have jumped to conclusions. I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He spoke very quietly, but it sounded to Meg as if there was real relief to him that that particular tangle was sorted out. “It was perhaps natural in the circumstances—”

“I think perhaps it was,” Meg agreed, feeling a little more at her ease. “But it’s generous of you to admit it.”

He didn’t reply to that but sat with eyes intent on the pencil he was twiddling in his hand. Suddenly he looked up.

“I’ll be glad if you’ll tell me whether you explained to Agnes that there was any connection between her telephone call to your uncle and his collapse?”

“No, I didn’t,” Meg replied emphatically. “She told
me that she had been worried because she was not at all sure that she had got her brother-in-law’s message over clearly, but she didn’t ask me if he had understood —and though I was rather shattered, I—somehow I couldn’t let her think that she was in any way to blame—”

Hector drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“I’m thankful for that,” he confessed. “It would have distressed her beyond measure, particularly as she didn’t even know that your uncle came to see me. As you will have realised, the flat is largely cut off from my part of the house and Mr Ainslie came to the front door. My aunt heard when I called for assistance, but by then Agnes was in bed, and though she doesn’t like admitting it, she’s rather deaf. She didn’t hear a sound.”

“Yes, I quite understand,” Meg said slowly. “But, Sir Hector—” she frowned in a puzzled way, “there’s one thing I don’t understand—”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you explain to Uncle Andra why it was that Mr Jeavons had to break his appointment? I mean, of all people, he would have understood and sympathised—"

"Because, unfortunately, though Agnes told my aunt, neither of them told me at the time. It was only later, when your uncle was taken ill, that Aunt Millicent told me about it. Consequently, all I could tell your uncle was that I had no idea why Jeavons had backed out and that he simply wouldn’t believe. It was complicated, too, by the fact that he said it was a woman who had rung and that I couldn’t understand because I knew that Mrs Jeavons had gone to see her married daughter who’s just had a new baby. As a result, I was puzzled, and Mr Ainslie read that as confusion on my part because I’d been lying to him.”

“Oh dear!” Meg said helplessly.

"Yes, a tangled web if ever there was one,” Hector said grimly. “Even though no one tried deliberately to deceive. Unfortunately, however, that doesn’t alter the present situation, though it does highlight a problem for the future—” He frowned as if trying to decide how best to explain what he meant. "It’s this,” he said at length. “Sooner or later, it seems to me that your uncle must be put in possession of the true facts. And I think that’s all the more important because in his present condition of health it would surely be bad for him to continue to have such a large size chip on his shoulder.”

“You mean he’d probably brood on it and that would possibly hinder his recovery?” Meg suggested.

“Exactly!” Hector sounded relieved that she had understood what he was driving at. “On the other hand, one has to ask what his reaction would be to the truth. It would relieve him of the belief that he owed me a grudge, which would presumably be a very good thing in one way. But then he would have to face up to the fact that not only did he make a mistake but that— look, Miss Ainslie, I’m no doctor, but I know enough to appreciate that in the state he was in last night, he must have done appalling things to his blood pressure. And that must have been at least a contributory cause of what happened. In other words—”

“He would have to accept that it’s largely his own fault that he’s in his present condition,” Meg finished as he paused. “Yes, I see that. And knowing Uncle Andra that might be almost unbearable.”

Hector nodded.

“So what’s to be done? I don’t feel I’m competent to judge. But as you say, you know your uncle better than I can possibly do. So can you tell me what the answer is?”

Meg pondered without avail for a while. Then she gave a little exclamation of relief.

“I think Aunt Ellen is—and I’m not saying that lust to avoid responsibility,” she told Hector earnestly. “It’s just that not only have they always been very close to one another, but they are of the same generation. I think it might be easier for him to hear it from her than from someone younger.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Hector agreed. “But as to when—I think Messiter and Muir must decide that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Meg agreed. “So far, Aunt Ellen has asked very few questions. At least not of me.” She looked at him enquiringly.