A Secret Infatuation

‘Oh, pooh,’ said Eugenie, ‘expect me in twenty minutes or so.’

She collected aspirins, a couple of lemons, throat lozenges and a small bottle of whisky from the cupboard where, from long experience, her mother stored them, got into her parka and wellies and went out into the darkening afternoon, urged to return as soon as she could. ‘I know you can find your way,’ said her mother. ‘All the same, take care.’

Eugenie found her way unerringly to the village, where the lights from the house windows shone dimly, but once past them she began the climb up the road, keeping well to the bank, hoping that the Reverend Mr Watts would have the sense to switch on all the lights in his house. She began the climb up the narrow path away from the road and saw that he had.

She didn’t like him overmuch, but she felt sorry for him, miserable with cold, obviously hating the house and the moor and everything else making life difficult.

‘I don’t know how you stick it,’ he told her. ‘If I had known what it would be like when I was sent here—nothing but mist and wind and rain …’

Eugenie had put on the kettle and was squeezing lemons into a jug. ‘Oh, come now, you know how lovely it is here on a fine day—the peace and quiet and the gorgeous views and no traffic worth mentioning.’

She made a pot of tea and put an egg on to boil, offered him aspirins and turned up the Calor gas fire. ‘You feel rotten, so everything’s horrible. You’ll be better in the morning. Now sit down and eat your tea and go to bed early and take two more aspirins.’

A practical girl as well as a beautiful one, she had set the table, filled a hot water bottle, taken it up to his bed and come down again to inspect the larder. ‘There’s plenty of food here, and as soon as the weather clears Mrs Pollard will be up to see to you. I’ll ring you in the morning to find out how you are.’

‘You don’t need to go? Can’t you stay for a while?’

‘My dear man, have you looked outside? It’ll be dark in no time at all and getting around isn’t all that easy.’

‘You’ve lived here all your life. Surely you must know your way around?’

‘Just so. That’s why I’m going now. Don’t forget to take this aspirin.’

Making her difficult way back to the road, she reflected that he hadn’t thanked her.

‘Men,’ said Eugenie, and slithered to a halt as she reached the road and bumped into a very large motor car.

Its door was open and an amused voice said, ‘An angel from heaven. You are not hurt?’

A very large arm had steadied her and a moment later its owner was beside her. He had taken his arm away but she had the impression that he towered over her even though she could not see him at all clearly.

She said, ‘No, I’m not hurt. You’re lost?’

‘Yes. I was steeling myself to spending a long night in the car. Now I’m hopeful of rescue. Unless you are lost also?’

‘No, no, I live here. Well, not far away. The village is close by. Where do you want to go to?’

‘Babeny …’

‘Tom Riley’s place. You’ll never get there until this mist lifts. You had better come with me. Mother will put you up for the night and you can phone him from our house.’

‘Your house?’ he asked. ‘But perhaps there is a hotel or a pub?’

‘A pub, but no beds. The nearest inn is miles away at Hexworthy and you’ve passed that—I doubt if you even saw it.’ She added in a motherly voice, ‘You know, you really shouldn’t drive around Dartmoor in this weather unless you know your way around.’

‘No, no, very foolish of me. Could you get into the car from this side?’

She wriggled her splendid person past the driver’s seat without more ado. Only when she was settled did she say, ‘Is it a Rolls or a Bentley?’

‘A Bentley.’ He had got in beside her and she turned to look at him under the car’s light. A very large man, bare-headed—his fair hair could be silver, it was hard to see. She could see though that he was good-looking with a high-bridged nose, a thin firm mouth and a strong chin. She wished she could see the colour of his eyes. He was wearing the kind of casual tweeds which, while well cut, looked suitably worn too. Well, she reflected, that stood to reason, didn’t it, if he drove a Bentley?

He said nothing, only smiled a little and then said, ‘I must rely on you, Miss …?’

‘Eugenie Spencer. My father’s the team rector.’

He offered a large cool hand. ‘Aderik Rijnma ter Salis.’

She shook the hand. ‘Not English—Swedish? Norwegian? Dutch?’

‘Dutch.’

He sounded amused again and she said quickly, ‘The road goes downhill for a hundred yards or so and then levels out as you reach the village. Look out for the sheep. There’s a steep bank on your right. Keep as close as you can to it—you can just make it out …’

They began their cautious journey and he asked, ‘You walked to wherever you came from?’

‘I’ve lived here all my life. The Reverend Mr Watts, who’s taken over the parish until my father is well, phoned for lemons and things. He’s got a bad cold.’

‘Lemons—and you came out in this weather to bring lemons?’

‘And aspirins. He’s from Birmingham and hasn’t got adjusted to the way we live here.’

‘That I can well understand.’

‘The road curves to the right. Will you open the window, please?’

When he did she stuck her head out into the mist for a moment. ‘There’s a tree stump right on the corner. Here it is, go a bit to the right—straighten out now, here’s the village.’

The lights were shining dimly through the cottage windows and the neon light from the village post office welcomed them, but they were quickly back in the gloom. ‘Not far now,’ encouraged Eugenie. ‘I must say you drive very well.’

Her companion thanked her meekly.

Her mother had the door open before the car stopped in front of the house.

‘Eugenie, is that you? However did you get a car …?’

Eugenie had got out of the car, surprised to find her companion waiting for her as she did so, shutting the door for her too. Nice manners, she thought, and plucked at his sleeve. ‘Let’s get inside. The car will be safe here.’ She raised her voice. ‘It’s me,’ she called ungrammatically. ‘I’ve got someone with me; he got lost.’

‘Come in.’ Mrs Spencer peered towards them. ‘You poor man, you must be tired and hungry.’

She held out a welcoming hand as the pair of them reached the door.

‘I’m Eugenie’s mother.’ She beamed up at him. ‘You’re more than welcome to stay until the mist lifts. The weather forecast is gales from the west, so there’s a good chance it will be clearing by morning.’

They were in the hall and Eugenie took off her parka and kicked off her wellies. ‘We waited for you to have tea, so come along in and meet my husband.’

‘You’re very kind. May I get my bag from the car first?’

‘Of course—bring in anything you may need for the night. We have more than enough beds in the house and you can borrow anything …’