Tangled Autumn. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ bag was housed, and the gas and air apparatus, even the blood taking and giving sets—’For,’ said Gloria, ‘we just have to be prepared for everything—and by the way, there’s a litre of O blood, Rhesus positive, in the fridge—Hamish brought it with him today in case Mrs MacTadd does the dirty on us.’ She went with her guest to the door. ‘Do you want anything from Inverness?’

      Sappha considered. ‘No, I don’t think so, thanks. I thought I’d drive over on my next day off and do some shopping, but there’s nothing urgent.’

      She said goodbye and drove the short distance to the Manse, where she put the car in the little lean-to at the back of the house which the minister had put at her disposal, and ran indoors. The house was warm and quiet; the faint murmur of voices from the drawing room told her that Mr and Mrs MacFee were enjoying their usual evening chat together; she forbore from joining them, for she suspected that it was probably the only hour in the day when they could be reasonably sure of being uninterrupted, but went on upstairs, to pause at the Baroness’s door undecided whether to go and see her first or wait until she had taken off her outdoor things. She decided to go in; probably the Baroness was feeling lonely. She opened the door and poked her pretty head round it.

      The Baroness was not lonely at all; she had company—a very pretty blonde girl curled up beside her on the bed, and the Baron, crouching on the floor, tinkering with a portable TV set. He came to his feet in a surprisingly agile manner for so large a man and said: ‘Hullo—had a nice day?’

      Sappha said yes, thank you, a trifle breathless with surprise and some other sensation which, if she hadn’t disliked him so much, she would have admitted was pleasure. The Baroness beamed at her. ‘Sappha, isn’t this a lovely surprise? Rolf brought Tonia a day sooner and he’s brought a TV for me too…come and meet my daughter.’

      Antonia had left the bed and had pranced over to Sappha. She really was extraordinarily pretty with great blue eyes and dimples, her hair was straight and thick and corn-coloured, cut in a fringe across her forehead. She put out a hand, remarking disarmingly: ‘You’re far too pretty to be a nurse. I don’t believe you’re much older than I am—I’m sixteen.’

      Rolf said lazily from the floor: ‘Antonia, you mustn’t ask Nurse how old she is—she might not want me to know.’

      ‘Stuff,’ said his sister inelegantly. ‘You make her sound like some old bag in her thirties—just because you’re thirty-two yourself…’ She turned her lively little face to Sappha. ‘Tell me later,’ she invited, and bounced back to make herself comfortable by her mother once more as that lady said indulgently: ‘Tonia, you’re not to talk to Sappha like that—you hardly know her.’

      ‘Oh, yes, Mama, I do, you know. Sometimes you meet someone and it’s as if you’ve known them all your life.’ She appealed to her brother. ‘Rolf, people do feel like that, don’t they?’

      He looked up briefly, but not at her. His dark eyes dwelt for a few seconds on Sappha, who felt herself turning slowly red under them. But all he said was: ‘Oh, yes, of course, only it’s more satisfactory if they both feel the same way at the same time.’

      ‘There, you see?’ Antonia addressed the room at large and smiled widely at Sappha. ‘I know we’re going to be friends.’ She studied Sappha’s heightened colour and went on with devastating candour: ‘You’ve gone very red—it makes you prettier than ever. Rolf…’

      He didn’t look up and his voice was bland. ‘I’m sure Nurse wants to take off her coat.’ And Sappha cast him a look of relief mingled with the vexed thought that he had called her nurse again. She said primly:

      ‘I’ll be back with your supper presently, Baroness,’ and went away.

      Hours later, sitting up in bed thinking about the evening, Sappha had to admit that she had enjoyed herself. Antonia had lent a sparkle to the conversation, and so too, surprisingly had Rolf. He was certainly very fond of his sister and she, for her part, was equally devoted to him, and although it was apparent that she could twist him round her little finger, it was also quite clear that she had a wholesome respect for him too. Sappha smiled to herself, thinking about her; she was spoilt and a little wilful but so good-natured and sunny-tempered that she doubted if anyone, even her eldest brother, could be annoyed with her for more than a couple of seconds at a time. And, reflected Sappha, she had been instantly obedient to the suggestion that it was her mother’s bedtime, and afterwards, sitting on the end of Sappha’s bed while the latter rearranged her hair, she had asked some remarkably sensible questions about her mother’s illness and when Sappha had hesitated to answer them, said: ‘I know a great deal about it already—Rolf said it would be better for me and for Mother if I did. And of course he’s right. He always is,’ she added simply.

      Sappha thought it wise to say nothing to this; quite obviously, the Baron ruled his family with a rod of iron, albeit a well camouflaged one. She found herself speculating upon the poor girl he would coerce into marrying him and felt fiercely sorry for her. She could imagine what it would be like—’Half a dozen children,’ she muttered to herself, thumping her pillows. ‘The woman’s place is in the home, and all that, however luxurious that home might be.’ She had a sudden vivid mental picture of the Baron sitting at the head of a table lined with little barons and baronesses, all with miniature satyr’s eyebrows and herself at the end. She pulled herself up short, hastily substituting this ridiculous idea with the interesting question as to what a baron’s children were called, but before she could go deeply into the matter she was disturbed by her patient’s voice from the bedroom next door, asking if she might have another sleeping tablet because one hadn’t seemed to be enough. Sappha got out of bed, her unruly thoughts forgotten. She said soothingly: ‘It’s only because you’ve had such an exciting evening—you have been to sleep and you’ll soon drop off again. I’ll read to you, shall I? Are you quite comfy?’

      She made a few deft movements amongst the pillows and bedclothes.

      ‘There, not a wrinkle in sight. Close your eyes—I’ll go on with Jane Eyre.’

      She read for several minutes until the Baroness interrupted her to say:

      ‘What an arrogant man he was—but of course he loved Jane, and she loved him. Was the man you loved—still do perhaps, Sappha—arrogant?’

      Sappha looked up from her reading. Her dressing gown was a soft pink, a perfect contrast to the dark hair hanging around her shoulders. She smelled faintly of Roger and Gallet’s Violet soap and she looked as pretty as the proverbial picture. Her patient, studying her closely, thought it a great shame that there was no one other than herself to see her.

      Sappha said in a wooden voice: ‘No, not arrogant. It was just that he found someone else—blonde and sexy and willing to give him what I wouldn’t—I’m old-fashioned about marriage…’

      ‘Me too,’ said the Baroness briskly, ‘and you would be surprised at the number of men who want an old-fashioned girl for a wife—a girl who will love them and run their home with pride. And children—men want children.’ She waved her plastered arm in the air. ‘It’s no good me telling you that you will get over it and meet another man—there aren’t any other men at the moment are there? And you’re sure that you will never get over him, aren’t you?’

      She took another look at Sappha, and it was a pity that Sappha, instead of looking at her companion, was looking backwards over the last few disastrous months, for the Baroness’s pretty face wore the look of someone who had just had a brilliant idea. She did, in fact, look very like her young daughter when that young daughter was plotting mischief. There was a little pause until Sappha said quietly: ‘Shall I go on reading?’

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