A Suitable Match. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ He took the receiver from her and said in a different, impersonal voice, ‘Sir Colin Crichton’s residence,’ and then, ‘Good evening, sir. Yes, Miss Crump is here.’

      He smiled again as he handed her the phone.

      Sir Colin’s voice came very clearly over the line. ‘Eustacia? You don’t mind if I call you that? The day has gone well?’

      ‘Yes, thank you, sir. They have been very good and they went to bed and to sleep at once.’ She gave him a brief, businesslike resumé of their day. ‘They both cough a great deal…’

      ‘Don’t worry about that, that should clear up now they’re away from London. I’ll look them over when I come down. You and your grandfather have settled in?’

      ‘Yes, thank you. Grandfather has just gone to his room. I think that he is a very happy man, sir…’

      ‘And you, Eustacia?’

      ‘I’m happy too, thank you, sir.’

      ‘Good, and be kind enough to stop calling me sir with every breath.’

      ‘Oh, very well, Sir Colin. I’ll try and remember.’

      He sounded as though he was laughing as he wished her goodnight and rang off.

      The week went by, delightful days filled with walks, visits to the village shop, an hour or so of what Eustacia hoped was useful study with the boys and afternoons spent helping Mrs Samways with the flowers, the linen and such small tasks that the housekeeper didn’t allow the maids to do, while the boys spent a blissful hour with her grandfather.

      It was, thought Eustacia, too good to be true. And she was right.

      Sir Colin had phoned on the Saturday morning to say that since he had an evening engagement he wouldn’t be down until Sunday morning.

      ‘I expect he’s going to take Gloria out to dinner,’ said Oliver. ‘She’s keen on him…’

      Eustacia suppressed a wish to know more about Gloria and said quellingly, ‘I don’t think we should discuss your uncle’s friends, my dear. You can stay up an hour later this evening because you always do, don’t you? But no later. I dare say he’ll be here quite soon after breakfast.’

      The boys complained, but only mildly; she swept them upstairs to bed with only token arguments against the harshness of her edict and, with the promise that she would call them in good time in the morning just in case their uncle decided to come for breakfast, she left them to go to sleep. Her grandfather went to bed soon after them and, since there was no one to talk to and the Samwayses had gone out for the evening and wouldn’t be back until late, she locked up carefully, mindful of Mr Samways’ instructions about leaving the bolts undone on the garden door so that he could use his key to get in, and took herself off to bed.

      She didn’t hurry over her bath, and finally when she was ready for bed she opened one of the books on her bedside table, got into bed, and settled down for an hour of reading. It was an exciting book, and she was still reading it an hour later when she heard the telephone ringing.

      It was almost midnight and the Samwayses weren’t back yet; she bundled on her dressing-gown and went silently downstairs to the extension in the hall. She was in two minds as to whether to answer it—it was too late for a social call and it could be one of those heavy-breathing types… She lifted the receiver slowly and said austerely, ‘Yes?’

      ‘Got you out of bed?’ enquired Sir Colin. ‘Eustacia, I’m now on my way to Turville. I’ll be with you in half an hour. Are the Samwayses back?’

      ‘No.’ There had been something about his voice. ‘Is there something the matter? Is something wrong?’

      ‘Very wrong. I’ll tell you when I get home. If you have locked up I’ll come in through the garden door.’

      He hung up before she could say anything more.

      She left the light on in the hall and went along to the kitchen, where she put the coffee on the Aga and laid up a tray with a cup and saucer, sugar and cream, and while she did that she wondered what could have happened. An accident with his car? A medical report about one or both of the boys?

      She shuffled around the kitchen, peering in cupboards looking for biscuits—he would probably be hungry. She had just found them when she heard the car, and a moment later his quiet footfall coming along the passage towards the kitchen.

      He was wearing a dinner-jacket and he threw the coat he was carrying on to a chair as he came in. He nodded to her without speaking and went to warm his hands at the Aga, and when she asked, ‘Coffee, Sir Colin?’ he answered harshly,

      ‘Later,’ and turned to face her.

      It was something terrible, she guessed, looking at his face, calm and rigid with held-back feelings. She said quietly, ‘Will you sit down and tell me? You’ll feel better if you can talk about it.’

      He smiled a little although he didn’t sit down. ‘I had a telephone call just as I was about to leave my London house this evening. My brother and his wife have been killed in a car accident.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      EUSTACIA looked at Sir Colin in horror. ‘Oh, how awful—I am sorry!’ Her gentle mouth shook and she bit her lip. ‘The boys…they’re so very small.’ She went up to him and put a hand on his arm. ‘Is there anything that I can do to help?’

      She looked quite beautiful with her hair loose around her shoulders, bundled into her dressing-gown—an unglamorous garment bought for its long-lasting capacity—her face pale with shock and distress, longing to comfort him.

      He looked down at her and then at her hand on his arm. His eyes were hard and cold, and she snatched her hand away as though she had burnt it and went to the Aga and poured the coffee into a cup. She should have known better, of course; she was someone filling a gap until circumstances suited him to make other arrangements. He wouldn’t want her sympathy, a stranger in his home; he wasn’t a man to show his feelings, especially to someone he hardly knew. She felt the hot blood wash over her face and felt thankful that he wouldn’t notice it.

      She asked him in her quiet voice, ‘Would you like your coffee here or in your study, Sir Colin?’

      ‘Oh, here, thank you. Go to bed, it’s late.’

      She gave a quick look at his stony face and went without a word. In her room she sat on the bed, still in her dressing-gown, going over the past half-hour in her mind. She wondered why she had been telephoned by him; there had been no need, it wasn’t as if he had wanted to talk to her—quite the reverse. And to talk helped, she knew that from her own grief and shock when her parents had died. It was a pity that he had no wife in whom he could confide. There was that girl the boys had talked about, but perhaps he had been on his own when he’d had the news.

      She sighed and shivered a little, cold and unhappy, and then jumped with fright when there was a tap on the door and, before she could answer it, Sir Colin opened it and came in.

      He looked rigidly controlled, but the iciness had gone from his voice. ‘You must forgive me, Eustacia—I behaved badly. I am most grateful for your sympathy, and I hope you will overlook my rudeness—it was unintentional.’

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