Never Too Late Read online

  He looked up as she went in and his manner was so exactly the same as usual that she wondered for a moment if she had dreamed those awful few minutes. ‘Come and see this,’ he invited her. ‘It’s a copy of The Wind in the Willows—in English. I thought we might read it to Sibella. I loved it when I was small, didn’t you?’

  She said yes, not looking at him. She felt guilty and incredibly mean and so ashamed of herself, even though she reminded herself that he was to blame because he hadn’t trusted her, but two blacks don’t make a white, as her father used to say. She went and sat down beside Sibella and admired Mr Toad in the delightful illustrations.

  There was no way of knowing how Benedict felt. His manner towards her during lunch was just as it always was, and yet for a moment, when she had told him about the flowers, he had looked so terrible that she had wanted to put her arms round him and tell him that she loved him. That would have been silly, of course; he wouldn’t have believed her, with the roses lying in ruins between them, and even if he had, it would have put him in a frightful spot. It was a relief when he told her after lunch that he would be going to Utrecht that afternoon and would probably not be home until late in the evening. ‘Don’t keep dinner— I’ll have something at the hospital. Can you cope with the letters? They’re from friends in London who want to see us if we have the time.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll ring them when we’re there and arrange something. Oh, and Myra telephoned this morning and left a message. She’s leaving for Italy to spend the winter there; she was almost anxious that I shouldn’t forget to tell you.’

  ‘Oh, I wonder why?’

  Benedict’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘And I was to tell you that she knew when she was beaten.’

  ‘I can’t think what she meant,’ said Prudence with a heightened colour. She plunged into a series of futile remarks about nothing at all, and he in his blandest manner most obligingly egged her on.

  She filled her empty evening planning their trip to England. Now that Sibella was to go with them there were her clothes to see to as well as her own; it kept her nicely occupied until bedtime. She stayed awake for a long time, thinking about Benedict with hopeless misery; falling in love with him had certainly complicated matters, especially as he had shown no inclination to do the same with her. Now the chance that he would really even feel a fondness for her was so remote as to be laughable. She did her best to cheer herself up with the reflection that they hadn’t been married long. There were years ahead of them, surely in time they could achieve some kind of.. .what was it that he had said? Harmony?

  It was most fortunate that Joanne should ring the following morning and insist on them going to dinner with Everard. ‘Of course, I’ll be there,’ she chuckled. ‘We’re going to talk about getting married, isn’t it thrilling?’ And when Prudence had accepted: ‘You heard about Myra? Good riddance, I say. She, was set on getting Benedict for herself ever since his first wife died; not that he ever encouraged her to imagine she might be in the running.’ She didn’t wait for Prudence to reply. ‘See you both this evening, then—dinner will be at eight o’clock, let us know if Benedict’s going to be held up.’

  Prudence told him at lunch and he agreed placidly. ‘I should be home as usual for tea,’ he told her. ‘Are you doing anything special this afternoon?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’ll go for a walk with Henry and then I’ll take Sibella into town to get her a few things she’ll need before we go to England.’

  ‘Walk to the shops, then meet me at the hospital at four o’clock—we’ll see what we can find for her to give Granny Trent and Aunt Nancy.’

  Something Dutch, Sibella had insisted, so after deliberation, they bought a set of coffee spoons in silver, and Delft china, a blue bon-bon dish on a silver stand. To these Sibella, with her own pocket money, purchased a hideously gay tea-cloth and a tin ofhopjes, a kind of hard toffee. She had a few gulden over, so she bought a packet of highly coloured sweets which she gave to Prudence with the instructions that they were to be shared fairly between her and Papa. It was a happy little interlude, and Prudence reflected sorrowfully that that was how it should be each and every day.

  She changed into a calf-length dark green velvet skirt and a cream chiffon blouse for Everard’s dinner party. Casting a critical eye over her reflection when she was ready, she conceded that she looked nice. She caught up an angora wrap and ran downstairs, rather on the late side, to find Benedict waiting with no sign of impatience in the hall.

  The drive there was so short that there was no need to talk, and once in Everard’s house, Joanne took the conversation into her own hands, talking non-stop about their plans, what she intended to do with the house, where they would go for their honeymoon. She laughed apologetically. ‘I’m so full of me,’ she said. ‘It’s like being in a lovely dream, I’m terrified that I’ll wake up, and then I look at Everard and know that it’s for real.’ She beamed at Prudence. ‘Isn’t it a marvellous feeling, knowing that you’re loved without reservations?’

  ‘Oh, yes, marvellous,’ agreed Prudence. ‘It’s all so exciting.’ She looked at Everard. ‘Do you mind your house being entirely made over?’

  He laughed. ‘Not in the least. I had no idea I was so interested in carpets and curtains until Joanne took me in hand!’

  They all laughed over their drinks, and presently went in to dinner and later sat round the fire, the two women engrossed in wedding clothes, the men deep in a discussion about a new type of anaesthetic machine. Joanne, pausing in the middle of a serious discussion about her wedding hat, said: ‘Listen to them— they sound like a couple of old bachelors!’

  Everard gave her a loving look. ‘But, darling, until very recently we both were.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing we came along when we did. You’re going to change your life style. I’ve every intention of having at least one baby, and I’m certain Prudence will have dozens...’

  Benedict laughed: ‘Dozens? My dear Joanne, I’m a busy man as it is!’

  Prudence joined in the laughter because if she hadn’t they would have noticed. Actually she felt more like crying.

  The next few days went quickly enough. She packed for the three of them, checked her passport and money, had a long session with Sitska, gave Ork careful instructions about Henry, who was already looking gloomy at the sight of the luggage, and had coffee with various ladies whose invitations she had accepted. What with these activities, besides Sibella to play with and the odd letter to type, she was kept busy enough, so that when Benedict was home there were plenty of mundane things to talk about. He for his part, since they would be away for ten days or so, had a full day at his consulting rooms and quite often brought work home with him; notes to be written up, notes to colleagues about shared patients, notes to his registrar. He worked steadily until late at night, apologising to her for leaving her alone so much. His manner was friendly, but she sensed a withdrawal, although she found it impossible to tell if he were angry or hurt or just not interested. She forbore from questioning him about the trip to England. She knew where they were to go, but he had not told her anything about their schedule. She supposed she would be left to her own devices while he was lecturing and possibly accompany him to any social events that had been planned. She was determined to put on a brave face and act the happy wife. Presumably she was expected to be. Beyond that she wasn’t prepared to think, not for the moment at any rate.

  They were to go via the Hoek of Holland to Harwich and take the Aston Martin, since that would be the easiest way for Sibella, and it also meant that Benedict could do a full day’s work before they needed to leave for the night boat. Prudence spent the day keeping an excited little girl as calm as possible, and taking Henry for an extra walk to make up for their absence. They had dinner early with Sibella, loaded up the car and set off. Now that they were actually on their way, Prudence felt a thrill of excitement. Perhaps there would be the opportunity to ha
ve a talk with Benedict, not just the polite talk they had been exchanging for the last week or so, but a real honest talk about the two of them. She wasn’t going to tell him that she loved him, but perhaps she could let him see that she would like to start again, get back on to their old friendly footing. It struck her that the feeling of instant liking which they had had for each other when they first met, instead of blossoming into something deeper had dwindled away.

  Of course there was no chance to say anything on the journey, Sibella talked non-stop and needed her questions answered, and once they were on board and Prudence had put the little girl to bed, Benedict, over a drink in the bar, suggested mildly that she might like to go to bed too. She would have to be patient and pick the right moment, she decided as she got into the narrow bed beside Sibella’s.

  Chapter 9

  England, in the dim light of early morning and with a faint drizzle falling, was hardly welcoming. Sibella, standing between Prudence and Benedict at the rails, watching the ferry berth, remarked in a disappointed voice that it looked exactly like Holland.

  ‘And that’s a good thing,’ observed Benedict matter-of-factly, ‘because you’ll feel at home here, won’t you?’

  Prudence squeezed the small gloved hand. ‘You liked Aunt Nancy at the wedding, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I like you better. Will you be gone for many days?’

  ‘No, love, and you’ll have such fun you won’t find it a long while.’

  They went down to the car presently, and since the ferry was half empty they were on their way within half an hour. Benedict drove steadily for half an hour and then slowed as they reached a small village and stopped before an old gabled hotel fronting the main street. ‘Breakfast,’ he said, ‘is a meal I cannot do without. Let’s see what we can get.’ They had a table in the small dining room, at a bow window overlooking the street, and since they had had only tea and biscuits when they had been called on board, they ate with healthy appetites. They went on again presently, joining the thickening stream of traffic, and since the journey from Harwich was under eighty miles, they were threading their way through the London suburbs by mid-morning.

  Prudence hadn’t bothered to find out much about Benedict’s flat in London. She had asked where it was and had been told that it was a small place close to Wigmore Street. Her knowledge of London was largely confined to the shopping streets and Nancy’s flat, but she had guessed vaguely that it would be somewhere to the west of the city. The early morning rush hour was well over and the lunch time traffic hadn’t started; they went comparatively easily across the city and presently turned away from the crowded main streets to the contrasting quiet of the elegant side streets. Benedict drove up one of these and then turned off into a tree-lined cul-de-sac lined with tall Regency houses. He pulled up before one of these. ‘Well, here we are,’ he observed. The flat’s on the second floor.’ Prudence and Sibella got out and gazed around them; it was remarkably peaceful and quiet and she said in some surprise: ‘It’s peaceful!’

  She took Sibella’s hand and followed him across the narrow pavement and in through the front door. The small lobby opened out into a much larger hall with a staircase at one side. ‘No lift,’ said Benedict. ‘If I want to see patients here I borrow a room on the ground floor—they’re rented out to medical men.’ They reached a landing and went up on to the next floor. The landing here was small with only one door. Benedict opened it with a key and held the door open for them to go through. The flat was surprisingly roomy, with a comfortable sitting room, a small dining room, a compact kitchen and three bedrooms as well as a bathroom and a shower. The third bedroom was very small indeed, but the furniture had been well chosen to give as much space as possible. Sibella instantly claimed it for her own and Prudence, ushered into the room next to it, was delighted to find that it overlooked a minute courtyard at the back of the house. There wasn’t much to see, but the wall around it was covered with Virginia Creeper, glowing red and yellow, and there were chrysanthemums in the small centre bed.

  Benedict went back to the car to collect the luggage and she peeped into the other bedroom and then into the sitting room. ‘It’s all very clean and tidy,’ she observed when he came back.

  ‘Someone comes in regularly; she’ll be here in the morning. I had thought we might all go out to lunch and perhaps you wouldn’t mind getting a meal this evening. The fridge should be well stocked.’

  ‘I’d love to; it’s the most super little kitchen. Do you have to lecture or anything today?’

  He smiled a little. ‘No—tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. I must make some phone calls today, though. Call Nancy and your mother if you would like to. I’ll make some coffee while you settle Sibella.’ When they had had their coffee he spent some time on the phone. He seemed to know a great many people rather well, Prudence decided, trying not to listen while she unpacked the things they would want for their two days’ stay in London. It was well after midday by the time he had finished and they walked the short distance to Ici Paris, a charming little restaurant where it seemed Benedict was in the habit of eating when he was in London, and since the rest of the day was theirs in which to do what they wished, they strolled along Oxford Street and then into New Bond Street and down the Burlington Arcade, where Benedict bought Sibella a shockingly expensive dress, and then, because Prudence had admired it, a cashmere sweater in exactly the right shade of green to go with her hair.

  They had tea presently and then took a taxi back to the flat, where Prudence, very much on her mettle, retired to the kitchen, leaving father and daughter to amuse each other, while she saw to the supper.

  The meal was pronounced a great success, although, as she modestly averred, the success was largely due to the lavish contents of the fridge. Sibella went to bed as soon as the meal was over, and when Prudence went back to the sitting room it was to find Benedict sitting at a desk between the narrow windows, surrounded by papers. She offered help in a hesitant manner and felt inordinately hurt when he said no abruptly, so that she said at once: Then I’ll go to bed too—it’s been quite a day. I’ve left coffee on the stove for you. Will breakfast at half past eight do?’ He looked up briefly. ‘Yes, thanks. Goodnight, Prudence.’

  She didn’t go to sleep at once, and when she did, it was a heavy slumber from which she was roused in the morning by Benedict with morning tea.

  She shot up in bed, her hair a burnished tangle. His ‘good morning’ was casual, but he added: ‘You look like the Sleeping Beauty in that blue silk nightie with your hair all over the pillow.’ He put a cup and saucer down on the bedside table. ‘Sibella’s awake; she wants to get into your bed.’

  ‘She does most mornings, just for a few minutes.’ Prudence tried to keep her voice as matter-of-fact as his while she savoured being a Sleeping Beauty even if he hadn’t meant it. Sibella came prancing in then, and Benedict fetched his own cup and sat on the end of the bed while they discussed what they should do with the day. ‘You have to count me out until about five o’clock’ he reminded them. ‘How about the Zoo or the Tower?’

  They decided on the Tower of London in the morning and after lunch another visit to the shops. ‘Take a taxi to Harrods and spend the afternoon there,’ suggested Benedict, ‘and take a taxi back here. I’ll let you have a key. You’ll be all right?’

  They had a lovely day. Sibella was taken round-eyed round the Tower, given lunch at a quiet little restaurant nearby and then transported to Harrods, where the pair of them spent a blissful afternoon. As Prudence explained afterwards, they hadn’t really needed to buy anything, but an extra lipstick was always useful to have, so were angora gloves for Sibella and a silk scarf for herself, and they spent a great deal of time finding a present for Benedict. Sibella chose a bright yellow ballpoint pen with his initial stuck on its top and paid for it with her own pocket money from the little bag Prudence had given her. ‘You must buy Papa a present too,’ she insisted, so they spent another twenty minutes or so looking at everyt
hing on display in the men’s department until finally Prudence decided on a small calf-bound pocketbook. Probably he would never use it, but she would not upset Sibella by buying nothing at all. They had tea before they went back to the flat— tiny sandwiches and tea-cakes and rich creamy confections, and the little girl was pink-cheeked with delight. ‘I only wish Papa was here,’ she confided to Prudence.

  Prudence squeezed a small hand. ‘So do I, darling, but we’ll see him this evening.’

  He was there waiting for them when they got back, ready to ask Sibella all the right questions about her day and toss her in the air and declare that he’d never had such a splendid pen in his life before and he’d use it every day.

  ‘Mama’s got a present too,’ said Sibella, so that she had to hand over the pocketbook.

  ‘Just what I wanted, my dear. Now I can write in it with my new pen.’

  He had a lecture to give the next day too, but not until the afternoon. Til drive you over to Nancy’s and collect you when I’m through,’ he told Prudence.

  ‘I’m not coming back here? You want me to take everything with me?’

  He nodded. ‘Why not? I’m due in Birmingham tomorrow—we can drive up that evening. We shall be staying with the Senior Medical Consultant and his wife—I’ve met them both, they’re a charming couple. I lecture there in the morning and we can leave after lunch; it’s less than ninety miles to Bristol, and we’ll be there for two days.’

  ‘Oh, will we?’ asked Prudence faintly. ‘And then where do we go?’

  ‘Edinburgh, two days there, and then Liverpool only one day, back to Oxford for another two days and then a couple of days with your people.’ He added: ‘Of course, if you find it too boring or tiring, you can go to Little Amwell whenever you wish.’

  The haste with which she answered brought a gleam to his eye. ‘Oh, no—F m sure I shall enjoy it enormously.’