Never Too Late Page 16
They had a rapturous welcome from Nancy. ‘James is coming home early, he’d hate to miss you. We’re so excited about having Sibella to stay.’ She bent to hug the little girl. ‘We’ll have such fun, and we’ll go to your granny’s house and be waiting for Mummy and Daddy when they get home.’
They had lunch together before Benedict went back to give his lecture.
‘He must be a clever devil,’ commented Nancy, ‘rushing round giving lectures off the cuff with hardly a pause. What does he lecture about, for heaven’s sake?’
To which Prudence had to reply that she wasn’t quite sure. Nancy gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Ah, well, you’ll have nice long stretches together in the car.’
The men arrived within ten minutes of each other and there was ample time for tea before Benedict said: ‘Well, we’d better be on our way. It’ll take a couple of hours and the Slaters expect us for dinner.’
He picked up Sibella and gave her a kiss and put a small box into her hand. ‘You may open that when we’ve gone, love, Aunt Nancy will help you with it. It’ll help pass the time.’
‘What did you give her?’ asked Prudence as they drove away.
‘A watch. One of those gaudy red things children love.’ He glanced at her. ‘She’ll be all right. James tells me they’ve got something planned for every single day.’
They drove in silence for a little while, then once on the Ml he sent the car up to a steady seventy. ‘The Slaters live just outside central Birmingham— Edgbaston. I’ll be driving in with Tom Slater in the morning and I’ll have lunch at the hospital. You’ll like Margaret, I think. There’ll be a few people there this evening, by the way. We shall leave tomorrow afternoon for Bristol. We are to stay at the Grand Hotel, and I lecture at the University there, I also have to go to the children’s hospital after lunch. You’ll be all right on your own? I should be back by tea time.’
‘Perfectly all right, thank you.’ She was dying to ask him why he had wanted her to come with him. He told her without the need of questions, though.
‘This is the first time that we have been alone since we married, Prudence, and it seemed to me that it was high time that we had a little time to ourselves.’
A little time was right, considering the schedule he had just outlined.
‘Why?’ she asked blandly.
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘We have to talk—about us. In the meantime shall we just enjoy ourselves as much as possible?’
She said ‘yes’ in a rather bewildered voice, and since half a loaf was better than no bread at all, closed her mind to her many problems and said again quite urgently: ‘Oh, yes, let’s!’
The Slaters lived in a large, awkward Edwardian villa with a nice garden. It was furnished in comfort and in rather an old-fashioned style, but since it was obvious that they were perfectly happy in it and happy with each other, that was unimportant. They welcomed Prudence and Benedict with a kindly warmth which swept them indoors to the fire, to sit for a few minutes before Mrs Slater led Prudence upstairs. ‘Dinner’s at half past eight, so you’ve got more than half an hour, my dear. You’re in here,’ she opened a door on to a large bedroom furnished with light oak furniture, out of date but beautifully polished. ‘And I made up a bed in the dressing room for Benedict; he explained that he’d have to work on his next lecture and didn’t want to disturb you. Come down when you’re ready.’
There were several people for dinner. Prudence, shaking hands and exchanging civilities, hoped silently that she would pass muster as an eminent physician’s wife. As a matter of fact, she did more than that. Her looks alone caught everyone’s eye, and she had chosen to wear a misty grey silk dress, rather demure and frightfully expensive, which did wonders for her hair. The evening passed pleasantly enough and so, for that matter, did the next morning, gossiping with Mrs Slater. Friends came in for lunch and before she knew where she was Benedict was there again, suggesting placidly that they should leave.
Driving down to Bristol, she asked if the lecture had gone well.
‘I think so—I hope so. At any rate, I remembered to say all the things I wanted to say and I had none of those awful blank moments when one can’t remember what one is talking about.’
Prudence enjoyed every minute of the ninety-mile journey; they seemed to have slipped back into their first easy friendship and talking was easy. It was a pity that they were able to go the whole way down the motorway, for they were in Bristol far more quickly than she could have wished, but she cheered up when she discovered that they would have the evening together at the hotel. She changed into something pretty for dinner and went down to join Benedict in the bar.
There were two men with him; elderly, pleasant and self-assured. Benedict introduced them as Professor Black and Dr Coles, both from the Royal Infirmary, who had been kind enough to come along and make sure that they were comfortable.
They beamed at her, plied her with sherry and then stayed and had dinner with them, and after that meal, over coffee in the lounge, they began a discussion about blood groups, so that presently Prudence wished them a gracefully worded goodnight and went to her room. And when, she thought forlornly, was there going to be any time to talk?
Certainly not in Bristol. She barely glimpsed Benedict all day and when he did return at last he brought with him Professor Black, this time accompanied by his wife. Prudence, saying all the right things, and looking delighted to see them, sat through a long-drawn-out dinner, exchanging nothings with Mrs Black while she held back frustrated rage.
It was a long drive to Edingburgh; they left after breakfast and drove endlessly north. Three hundred and sixty-five miles to go,’ Benedict had told her casually as they got into the car. ‘Say six hours driving, allowing for hold-ups, another hour and a half to eat. We should be there by early evening.’
‘And where do we stay?’
‘Ah, yes—with Professor MacKin and his wife— two days, four lectures.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
‘Enormously,’ she had said valiantly. ‘I phoned Sibella yesterday, she sent her love.’
‘We must find her a present, mustn’t we? That was a pretty grey dress you wore at the Slaters’. You’re making an impression, Prudence.’
She went a pleased pink. ‘Oh, thank you; I’m trying my best...’
He said placidly: ‘You don’t have to try very hard to have the men buzzing round you like flies.’
She drew a quick breath. ‘And would you mind?’
‘You asked me that question once before, do you remember? My answer is the same.’ He slowed the car. Tm going to turn off here; there’s a pub somewhere near here where we can lunch.’
He had the most irritating way of preventing her from asking questions. She would have liked to have continued reminiscing about Nancy’s wedding and their first meeting, but it was evident that she wasn’t going to be given the chance. Never mind, she consoled herself, there were several days left. She counted them silently. Surely there would be a chance for them to talk—really talk about themselves; in the meantime it was heaven just to be with him.
There was no chance. She hardly saw him in Edinburgh and when they were together there were other people there—a small evening reception when she barely spoke to him for the whole evening; a lunch party when he was at the other end of the table. Edinburgh proved disappointing, and so did Liverpool, and she could have wept with vexation as they drove towards Oxford. Two days more and they would be at Little Amwell. And although they had travelled all those miles together, never once had they talked about anything other than his work, the cities they had visited and the people they had met. They were as far apart as ever.
They were to stay with an old acquaintance of Benedict’s, one of the consultants at the hospital where Benedict was due to lecture, and as they reached the outskirts of Oxford Prudence said suddenly: ‘I should like to come to your lecture—one of them, at any rate.’
‘Are you interested in
polycythaemia?’ Benedict sounded mildly amused.
‘I haven’t the least idea what it might be,’ observed Prudence coolly, ‘but I should like to attend one of your lectures.’
‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’ He was casually helpful. ‘I’ll take you along with me tomorrow, though I’m afraid you’ll be bored.’
She refrained from telling him that nothing he did or said would ever bore her. She thanked him, adding: ‘And you don’t have to bother about me afterwards. I can go shopping or something or take a taxi.’
‘We can talk about that later. Here we are.’
Dr Cruickshank was a good deal older than Benedict, and his wife, a round cosy little woman, treated Prudence as though she had been one of her teenage daughters. When Benedict explained later about Prudence going to a lecture, she said at once: ‘Oh, that’s nice, you’ll enjoy that, my dear. Benedict will be able to arrange for someone to bring you back here for lunch. He’ll be going to the consultants’ room for his, I expect. And you won’t be missing anything; they drink pints of beer and talk about the most revolting things!’
Prudence laughed: ‘Then I’m glad I’m not invited. But I’m sure I can find my way back here...’
‘I’m sure you can too, Prudence, but I’ll get someone to bring you back.’ Benedict spoke casually, but she didn’t argue. He seldom raised his voice and at times one would imagine him to be easygoing in the extreme, but she had learned that he liked things to be done his way once he’d made up his mind.
There were, inevitably, people coming in for drinks. Prudence went upstairs presently to change in the comfortable bedroom with its surprisingly modern bathroom and the dressing room beyond. ‘Very considerate of Benedict to sleep there,’ Mrs Cruickshank had commented, and meant it. ‘I expect he sits up until all hours when he’s got a lecture to put together. It must be quite hard work.’
The evening was pleasant and Prudence, in the grey dress, made a hit with the guests. It wasn’t that she was just pretty; she was a good listener, never tried to attract attention, and was as happy talking to some crusty old professor as someone of her own age.
They were to leave the next day, after Benedict had given another lecture in the morning and she had had an early lunch at the Cruickshanks. She didn’t see him to speak to for more than a few moments until they were in the car driving out of Oxford. True, she had attended the lecture, and sat bursting with pride while he talked, not understanding a word of it.
‘Well, that’s over,’ observed Benedict. ‘I’ve left a trail of envious men behind me—not because of my lectures, but because of my beautiful and charming wife.’
Prudence digested this with pleasure and then frowned. ‘Is that why I came with you? To see if I was suitable to be the wife of an eminent doctor?’
They had stopped waiting for the traffic lights to change. He turned to look at her. He said silkily: ‘It’s high time we had our talk, my dear.’
‘More than time,’ she snapped back, ‘but you’ve left it a bit late.’
‘Never too late.’ The lights changed and he drove on, and she didn’t say more, for the traffic was heavy, but presently she exclaimed: ‘We’re not going south— you ‘re on the Warwick road!’
‘That’s right. That’s where we are going.’
‘Another lecture?’ she ventured, puzzled.
‘I hope not.’ And when she glanced sideways at him, his profile looked so stern she decided not to say anything more for the moment.
He drove fast up the A423, through Banbury and then on again until Southam, when he took the road to Warwick.
‘Warwick?’ queried Prudence at a complete loss.
His, ‘Yes, my dear,’ offered no clue.
They drove through Warwick and out on to the Stratford-upon-Avon road, but before they reached the outskirts of the town he turned sharply through big open gates and went slowly uphill between tall trees. ‘Warwick Castle?’ asked Prudence. ‘Why have we come here? They close in two hours—it said so at the gate.’
‘Two hours can be a long time, and we’ve come here because it should be quiet—I mean peacefully quiet.’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘Here’s the car park.’
The man in charge was friendly. ‘Almost no visitors,’ he told them. ‘You’ll have the place to yourselves—we close at five o’clock, mind.’ They walked up the rest of the drive and through the barbican. The castle was built round a rough circle of grass and the car attendant had been quite right. It was so quiet, if Prudence had had a pin handy, she would have heard it drop.
‘Not the dungeons,’ said Benedict, and took her arm. ‘Let’s try the Private Apartments.’
They went through a wide door at the top of stone steps and stepped into another world. Two ladies were chatting just inside the door, but beyond wishing them good day, they left them to their own devices.
There was a lot to see—music room, library, boudoir, drawing room... Prudence, interested despite herself, spoke her thoughts. ‘I wonder if they were happy?’ She gestured to the figures in their elegant, elaborate clothes, sitting in apparent conversation while powdered footmen poured tea.
‘Happy? If happiness means great wealth, a great many servants at one’s beck and call, cupboards full of clothes and magnificent jewels, probably they were happy.’
They had paused and were standing at a window which overlooked a magnificent waterfall below them. She felt Benedict’s arm round her shoulders and trembled a little. ‘Happiness for me is loving someone so deeply that they’re part of life, so dear that there’s no living without them.’ He turned her round and held her tight. ‘That’s how I feel about you, my darling.’
Prudence sniffed into the tweed of his jacket. ‘Just now? Just this instant?’ she asked, and felt him laugh. ‘Oh, my dearest, I’ve been in love with you since I turned round at Nancy’s wedding and saw you just behind me.’
‘You could have said so.’ Her voice came muffled.
‘And you would have shied away like an ill-used little animal, afraid to be hurt again.’
He put a hand under her chin so that she had to look up at him. ‘I thought—rightly or wrongly, I don’t know—that if I left you alone, treated you as a friend, you would in time come to love me too.’
Prudence gave a small choking sob. ‘I’ve been in love with you for weeks and weeks.’ She added for no reason at all: That beastly Myra and you being horrid about Everard... you encouraged me!’
‘I felt I ought to do so. And my darling girl, can you not forget Myra? She never meant anything, you know.’ He smiled slowly. ‘As to that, what about beastly Tony?’
She chuckled on a sob. ‘What a waste of time!’ she said.
‘Well now, we’ll start making up for that this minute.’ His arms tightened so that she could scarcely breathe. He kissed her gently at first and then quite roughly, and one of the ladies, coming softly to make sure that they weren’t stealing anything, stood and watched, her mouth open. She was a sentimental little lady, with old-fashioned ideas about love; these two elegant people standing there with eyes for no one but each other were exactly as she imagined love might be, given the right man and woman. She sighed and slipped down the stairs again and told her companion, who in her turn went to have a look. When she got back she said: ‘We close in an hour. Ought we to—well, remind them?’
She went back once more and found them standing very close together at the window. Rather at a loss, she observed: ‘The castle is most interesting, isn’t it? There’s a tea-room in the cellars, if you would care for a cup—we shut quite soon.’
‘My wife and I find everything quite...’ Benedict paused, ‘wonderful, and we’d like tea before we go.’
‘Down this passage and through the door at the bottom of the stairs.’
She watched them go and hurried back to her friend. ‘Just fancy, they’re married!’ she observed. ‘I didn’t think they would be, they looked so in love.’ She sighed. ‘She was so pretty too.’
‘I don’t mind where we go or what we do,’ said Prudence, ‘as long as I’m with you.’ She added: ‘And the children of course.’
He kissed her again. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘All ten of them.’ He took her arm. ‘Let us have tea, my dearest love.’