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"Yes, it is,” she said regretfully. “It must have been a terrible shock for Mr Jeremy.”

“Oh, it was,” the girl told her. "You should have seen his face! As white as a sheet. Proper upset he was!”

Meg, feeling that she had had enough of the girl’s company, thanked her for fetching the letter and went out to the car. She herself was too shaken by the news to take any risks, so she drove very slowly back to Heronshaw House. She went up to the flat and to her surprise found Hector there.

“Hallo!” he greeted her. “Aunt Millicent forgot some books she was taking over to your uncle, so I—what’s the matter, Meg?”

Meg tried to tell him, but the words seemed to stick in her throat, so she took the letter from her handbag and handed it to him.

As Hector read it, his face grew grave and as he handed it back he touched her hand very gently.

“I’m sorry, Meg, truly sorry,” he told her quietly. “Is there anything you can think of that I can do to make it easier for you?”

‘‘Not really,” Meg replied. “And in any case, it’s not so much on my account, because I hardly know Mr Malvern. But Jeremy—he’s very fond of his father—”

“And of course you’re concerned on his account,” Hector said with a nod of understanding. “Well, for his sake, you’ve got to pull yourself together, Meg. That sounds hard, I know, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Meg agreed, and squared her shoulders resolutely. “You’re quite right. I think it’s because of it coming so soon after Uncle Andra that it somehow seems more frightening—”

“I expect so,” Hector replied. “And that makes me wonder—your uncle and Mr Malvern are old friends, aren’t they? Do you think it might be better if he wasn’t told until there’s definite news—?”

“‘It would be much better,” Meg said decisively. “But I doubt if that’s possible—not in a place like this! The maid who gave me the letter, for instance. She was rather horribly excited about it. I’m quite sure she’ll spread the news, and she’s only one! ”

Hector didn’t reply to that, but after a minute he asked :

“What about a cup of tea and a couple of aspirins, Meg? Agnes will get it for you.”

But Meg had no wish to be subjected to Agnes’ no doubt natural curiosity, so she shook her head.

“Thank you for thinking of it, but I don’t think I’ll bother. As a matter of fact, what I’d really like to do—”

“Yes?” Hector asked as she paused.

“I’d like to get down to work,” Meg explained. “I haven’t finished those reports yet—”

For a moment Hector hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Yes, you’re quite right, Meg. There are times when work—hard work—is the only thing.”

For a moment his hand rested heavily on her shoulder. Then he picked up the books he had come for and went downstairs.

That evening Meg had a telephone call from Jeremy to say that he had reached his father in time.

“But he’s a desperately sick man, Meg. There can’t be any question of me leaving him yet,” he explained.

“No, of course not,” Meg agreed. “I quite understand that. I wish I could do something to help—”

“That’s sweet of you,” Jeremy said gratefully. “But there isn’t really—yes, there is! I want you to promise me something, Meg.”

“Yes?” she said rather uncertainly.

“Just this—I have got something important to tell you and I wish I could tell you over the phone, but it’s too long and too complicated. So it will have to wait, but will you promise me not to—well, not to take any decisive steps which might affect your whole future until I get back? I know it sounds very mysterious, but— please, Meg?”

He spoke so earnestly that Meg gave him the promise he wanted, but after she had rung off she found herself wishing that he had been a little more explicit. It was rather worrying not to know just why he had asked her to commit herself so blindly—

But for the next few days she had little time to worry about that. Mr Messiter, it appeared, was so well satisfied with Uncle Andra’s improvement that he felt it was safe for him to leave hospital sooner than had been anticipated. Meg had previously not given much thought to just what arrangements would be made, though she had vaguely imagined that somehow or other room would be found for him in the flat. Now she found that it had been planned that Aunt Ellen and she herself were to move over to Hector’s part of the house where a ground floor sitting room was to be turned into a bedroom for Uncle Andra. It was obviously a sensible arrangement since it meant that he would have no stairs to tire him, particularly as there was a bathroom almost adjacent to the room.

“It seems a bit odd, perhaps,” Mrs Laidlaw commented. “But you see, so often men seem to enjoy doing things which mean they come home quite filthy. I suppose it’s the eternal little boy in them! And I fancy their womenfolk refused to have them tramping mud
upstairs after a meet or a day's shoot or tramping over the farms. And very sensible, too. And of course, quite ideal in the present circumstances. So don’t look so concerned, Meg. Hector and I are only too glad—” And Meg let it go at that, though actually her concern had been on a different account. It meant being in even closer contact with Hector and that, she was only too well aware, was going to be almost too much of a strain. Fiona had made that clear.

“It‘s bad enough to have the place turned into a guest-house just to please Aunt Millicent,” she complained. “But it really is going too far that now it’s to be a convalescent home!”

“But will it affect you?” Meg was stung into asking. “You won’t be asked to do anything to help—”

Fiona regarded her through half closed eyes.

“No, darling, I certainly won’t be! Hector will see to that! As a matter of fact, we’re planning to run away from it all for a little while at least.”

“Are you?” Meg managed to say through dry lips. “Yes.” Fiona lit a cigarette and exhaled luxuriously before she went on: “We’re going to London in a few days' time—to do some shopping. It’s really time I started thinking about my trousseau and Hector—” she held up her ringless left hand in a significant way that Meg was forced to understand.

In her heart of hearts she had permitted a tiny hope to grow. So long as there was no announcement about the engagement, so long as no one even spoke of it, it had gradually seemed to become more and more unreal and improbable. But now—

*

So that the journey to Heronshaw House should tire him as little as possible, Uncle Andra was brought there in an ambulance and deftly transferred to a waiting wheelchair by the two ambulance men. It was a sensible, even inevitable arrangement, but Aunt Ellen and Meg had been just a little bit uneasy lest Uncle Andra should rebel at being “mollycoddled”, a term he had always used in the past when any attempt was made to per
suade him to take care of himself.

But there was no sign of anything like that and over the next few days it became increasingly clear that he had quietly accepted that from now on life must be conducted on more tranquil lines than had previously been the case. And strangely enough, it didn’t seem to worry him. It was as if his illness had set a barrier between the present and the past and he seemed to have no wish to break it down. Indeed, he was quite frank about it.

“In some ways at least I’ve had a full and satisfying life,” he said to Aunt Ellen and Meg. “I’ve done the work I most wanted to and I can honestly say that I’ve done it to the best of my ability. But that’s just it. Of all professions,
we
should know that there comes a time when those abilities deteriorate. So long as one keeps working, one doesn’t admit that. But now, looking back, I know that it was time for me to get out and leave it to younger men. And it comes as a relief to know that the responsibility is theirs now and not mine. In fact, there’s only one thing that I regret—I could wish that I’d had an illness earlier in life. I think, if I had, I could have helped my patients more. But I’ve always been so disgustingly healthy—”

He made it sound as if that was such a disgraceful thing that both Aunt Ellen and Meg laughed and Uncle Andra grinned ruefully.

“Yes, I know. It sounds a silly thing to say, but it’s the truth, you know. However sympathetic one may feel and however much one uses one’s imagination, it’s impossible to know what any human experience really entails until one has come up against it oneself.”

“That goes for pleasant experiences as well as the other sort,” Aunt Ellen commented matter-of-factly, and Uncle Andra looked at her sharply.

“No doubt,” he said briefly, and changed the topic of conversation so unmistakably that neither Meg nor her aunt ventured to continue it. But afterwards, Meg asked tentatively:

“Aunt Ellen—about Mrs Laidlaw and Uncle Andra—”

Aunt Ellen sighed.

“I don’t know, Meg. They got on extremely well together. No doubt about that. And I rather think Andra realises that he’s missed something in life. But—” she shook her head, “I think it’s more than likely he could feel that it wouldn’t be right to think of marriage in his state of health. I can just hear him saying that it wouldn’t be fair to Millicent to ask her to take on an old crock because she wouldn’t get anything out of it!”

“Well, but she would—if she feels that way about him,” Meg argued. “Companionship and the knowledge that she was needed—but quite apart from that—” she hesitated. “I don’t know if this is true, because actually it was Fiona who told me—”

“And she’s a shocking little liar,” Aunt Ellen commented feelingly. “But what did she say?”

“That Mrs Laidlaw is dependent on Hector because her husband left her very badly off,” Meg said slowly.

“That could be true,” Aunt Ellen said thoughtfully. “John Laidlaw was an extremely nice man, but he was rather the dreamy sort and he never really made his mark. I think they were always hard up, though Millicent has never actually said—” She pondered for a moment and then went on: “If it is true, then I should imagine it’s something that doesn't worry either Millicent or Hector in the least. But Andra—that’s a different matter. If he could feel that by marrying Millicent he could make sure that she was secure financially in her own right—yes, this wants thinking about, Meg.”

“Yes, but ought one to interfere?” Meg asked, apprehensive at Aunt Ellen’s obvious intention to play Providence. “I mean, it can do more harm than good—”

“Oh, of course, one mustn’t interfere,” Aunt Ellen agreed, and sounded as shocked as if such an idea had never occurred to her. “But if, in the course of casual conversation, one just happened to mention—”

Meg laughed. She really couldn’t help it, and after a moment Aunt Ellen joined in.

“Well, I would like them both to be happy,” she said defensively. “There’s nothing wrong in that, is there?”

“Not a thing!” Meg assured her cheerfully. “But you’ll have to make sure that Fiona was telling the truth, you know.”

Aunt Ellen frowned.

“That girl!” she commented. “She’s been a thorn in Millicent’s side for years! But of course, there not being anything she could do about it, because having been made her guardian, Hector got rather landed with her. All the same, I should have said that there were limits to his responsibilities. Oh well—” she shrugged her shoulders, “I suppose it will work out all right sooner or later—”

But she didn’t sound too sure, and neither was Meg. She had been quite sure for some time that Hector wouldn’t marry Fiona for the sake of her money. More recently she had felt increasingly sure that it wouldn’t be because he loved her, either. But that he was prepared to marry her because he knew that left to her own devices she was almost certain to make a wreck of her life—yes, that was a possibility.

Two days later Hector and Fiona left for London in her car. Meg didn’t see them go—she was careful to see to that, but her feelings were mixed as she heard the powerful car start up. It would certainly make life easier with Fiona out of the way, and in some respects the same thing applied to Hector. And yet his absence left a tremendous emptiness. It was frightening, for she knew that even when he returned, that sense of loss would persist. There was no place for her in his life and the sooner she accepted that the better. Had it been possible, she would have left Heronshaw House before he returned, but though that wasn’t possible, at least she could count on being able to in the not very distant future.

For, though she and Aunt Ellen had never discussed Mrs Laidlaw and Uncle Andra’s affairs again, she was reasonably certain that, just as she had said she would, Aunt Ellen had casually mentioned Mrs Laidlaw’s financial dependence on Hector to her brother. His manner towards her had always been friendly, but now it had the added quality of protectiveness. It wouldn’t, Meg thought, be very long before they announced their intention of getting married and once they had, then neither she nor Aunt Ellen need stay on at Heronshaw House.

From Jeremy she heard once or twice, at first to say that his father was still lingering though making little progress towards recovery and then, finally, to say that he had died quietly in his sleep. Jeremy himself expected to return to Netherbyre in a week or so’s time.

“Then we must have a long talk, Meg,” he told her.

But what about? What could he say or do that would make any difference to her determination to leave the district as soon as it was possible?

And the sooner the better, she told herself sternly. She had no place here and the sooner she was compelled to start a new life, the better for everybody concerned. What she needed was work—demanding, absorbing work, and that was something she hadn’t got at the present moment. Hector had left some work for her to do, but the end of that was in sight and with "time on her hands, it was all too easy to let her thoughts dwell on her unhappiness.

She spent most of her spare time out of the house either driving or walking, but whichever it was, she was careful to avoid either of the farms to which Hector had taken her. But one place she did go to see again— Nanny’s cottage. Somehow or other, no one seemed to bother about it now, but it had played an important part in all that had happened. But for it, she and Uncle Andra would never have come to Blytheburn. She would never have met Hector, never have fallen in love with him—