Susan Barrie - Return To Tremarth

Charlotte was filled with an extraordinary and quite unreasoning resentment as she found herself forced to leave the room and take up her station on the landing outside. She understood perfectly that Richard Tremarth, if not in an actually critical condition, was far from well, and as it was getting on for ten o’clock it was certainly far too late to be perplexing even a semi-invalid.

But she had felt that things were stirring in Tremarth’s mind as she stood with his hand grasping her wrist and his face pressed very close to her fingers, and if only Hannah hadn’t intervened… But then Hannah, of course, was a nurse, and she was acting on instructions from the local doctor. When she rejoined Charlotte on the landing she was looking quite cross with her.

“You really ought to have had more sense than to ask him a lot of questions,” she said. “A patient who has lost his memory gets it back gradually, and not as a result of having it jogged at a time when he ought to be asleep. I’ve given him the sedative Dr. Mackay left for him, and he should sleep peacefully throughout the night. But just in case he wakes and feels the urge to start wandering about the house as he did last night I’m going to sit with him through the night. You can wake me about six o’clock – if I should happen to doze off! ” with a certain amount of defensiveness – “with a nice cup of tea, and if everything’s all right you can sit with him for a few hours while I snatch a bit of rest. And then you can go off to Truro and do your shopping! ”

Charlotte was suddenly and very genuinely concerned for her friend.

“You’ll be worn out,” she protested.

Hannah denied that she would be anything of the kind.

“I’m tough,” she assured Charlotte. “And I’ve done this kind of thing before. But perhaps, if it’s necessary to sit with him to-morrow night, I’ll let you relieve me for a few of the darkest hours of the night. However, it’s quite possible that he’ll be very much better tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Charlotte breathed, and Hannah looked mildly taken aback by her strange earnestness. “I really do hope so!”

CHARLOTTE quite enjoyed herself in Truro the following afternoon, spending money freely or as freely as she dared – and buying all sorts of dainties for her invalid at Tremarth. She would not normally have purchased hot-house grapes at the price she paid for them, but for Richard Tremarth they seemed a good idea. And so did avocado pears and peaches, a brace of partridges (out of season, of course, and therefore very expensive) some smoked salmon and a clutch of plover’s eggs. She didn’t know why she bought the plover’s eggs, except that they, too, seemed a good idea, and if Tremarth’s appetite was likely to be as elusive as his memory he would require tempting in order that his strength should be maintained.

Lastly, before she turned her car for home, she bought magazines and paperbacks, and then with the boot of the car loaded set off out of the car-park. The Cornish countryside that surrounds its somewhat dour capital – built upon granite over which the waves of the sea once washed, and therefore understandably a little detached and divorced from the encroachments of a modem world – is extremely attractive, and Charlotte certainly found it so as she drove along at a steady forty miles an hour, and felt for no easily understandable reason a desire to sing.

Flowers… she thought suddenly. She might have added to her expenditure, by buying some really wonderful hot-house flowers for the invalid’s room, but the reason she had hesitated was because there were so many sweetly scented ones in the garden at Tremarth. And nothing could really improve upon a bowl of roses. She would take the scissors when she got back and snip, snip, snip until she had enough to fill a charming and rather valuable silver bowl that stood on the hall table at Tremarth and carry it up to gladden the invalid’s eyes. She would place it on his dressing-table, where he could see it easily…

And she might place one or two choicer blooms in a glass beside his bed. If he was as bewildered as his dark eyes indicated the roses might give him comfort.

When she came in sight of Tremarth. after driving up over a cliff-top that was brilliantly green in the evening light, she could not prevent herself from feeling profound satisfaction as she viewed the pleasing outlines of her own house. It was such a very, very beautiful house in an even more beautiful setting, and the knowledge that it was hers affected her in much the same way as a warrior returning from a gruelling campaign that had taken him overseas to some very hostile lands might have felt when he returned to his ancestral castle.

It was not a castle, but it was considerably more useful, and it was home. It was her home! And what was more, she could keep it! She would keep it!

Waterloo, who had been disappointed earlier in the day because she had declined to take him with her in the car, came out and wagged his tail at the sight of her, and put his nose amongst the purchases in the boot. Hannah too emerged, and stood watching Charlotte unloading her somewhat strange collection of expensive greengrocery and other edibles, but made no attempt to assist her. She stood at the head of the flight of steps, wearing a crisp blue linen dress and a clean starched apron which she appeared to have included by accident amongst her luggage-they were left-overs from her hospital days – and looked extraordinarily efficient and charmingly wholesome with a slight application of lipstick and powder, which she usually disdained, but a little repressed, and even tight-lipped, which struck Charlotte as rather odd.

Handing up packages containing smoked salmon and Dover sole, which she had been unable to resist, and urging careful treatment of them, Charlotte enquired why she looked so grim. With a sudden surge of anxiety she enquired:

“There’s nothing wrong with Richard, is there? I mean, he’s not any worse?”

“No, he’s not any worse.”

“Has the doctor called?”

“Oh, yes, he called shortly after you left, and was fairly satisfied with the patient’s condition. But unfortunately, also shortly after you left, someone else called to see him… and she’s still here! Upstairs in the sick-room, sitting beside the bed and already quite at home! ”

Charlotte very nearly dropped her parcels, and her comparatively relaxed, carefree expression vanished altogether.

“She?” she demanded.

“A Miss Claire Brown, or so she calls herself. Says she’s Mr. Tremarth’s secretary.”

“Oh!” Charlotte exclaimed, and she and Hannah stared at one another for rather a long moment. And then Hannah roused herself sufficiently to help Charlotte with the parcels, said she would go through to the kitchen and make her a pot of tea, if she hadn’t already had some, and suggested that Charlotte, as mistress of the house, went upstairs and interviewed the young woman who was sitting with Richard Tremarth.

“Quite obviously he hasn’t the least idea who she is, but he seems to like having her sitting there with him. So unless you’re prepared to put her up for the night you’d better make an effort to dislodge her,” Hannah suggested. She peered inside one of the packages, and appeared somewhat overcome. “What on earth are these?” she demanded. “I thought pheasant shooting was over for this year! ”

“They’re partridges.”

“However much did you pay for them?”

“I – I can’t remember.” Charlotte was peeping at herself in the hall mirror, and pushing a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. “Do I look tidy enough to go upstairs?”

“Of course you do. But wouldn’t you like some tea first?”

“No, I – I think I ought to see this young woman.” Her eyes met Hannah’s very, very faintly amused brown ones. “What is she like?” she asked. “Is she -?”

“Oh, charming. Not at all what I would describe as the average kind of secretary. And she must get a thumping good salary, because her clothes are marvellous. And she looks more like a model than a secretary… Well, that’s my opinion,” Hannah concluded, as if she personally considered her opinion was seldom at fault. “You see girls like her in the glossy magazines!

Charlotte reached for the grapes and the peaches that she had purchased for Richard, and said she would take them with her upstairs. She took another hurried glimpse at herself in the hall mirror, wondered whether anyone would ever be likely to describe her as the type of young woman you might find in a glossy magazine, and ordered Waterloo to return to the kitchen with Hannah. Then, nervously smoothing the front of her hair again, she ascended the stairs until she stood outside Richard’s room, and even before she tapped on the door and entered she caught the monotonous drone of voices from within.

The room – her room – was full of flowers. She need not have concerned herself about failing to buy some, for Miss Brown must have spent a small fortune on acquiring a selection of really prize blooms. Charlotte thought Hannah might have warned her as she gazed with astonishment at the tightly packed vases… and it seemed to her that every container in the house had been brought into use for the roses and lilies and other not so easily recognisable varieties that were saturating the atmosphere with perfume.

There would be absolutely no need for her to go wielding her scissors in the garden in search of some fragrant if rather overblown blooms for the sick-room.

Richard Tremarth was sitting up in bed and looking faintly flushed under his tanned skin, but his eyes were bright and amused, and even if he couldn’t remember very much he was obviously not suffering from boredom. His lug gage had been sent up to Tremarth from The Three Sailors, and Hannah had got him into fresh pyjamas that were quite strikingly becoming to one of his sleek, attractive darkness, especially as the almost purple blueness of the silk lent a quality of purplishblueness to his otherwise, unfathomable darkly grey eyes. And despite the fact that he was amused his eyes were still giving away few secrets. Charlotte noticed the length of his eyelashes, and felt her heart turn over.