A Secret Infatuation

He went away and Mrs Spencer took the opportunity to say, ‘What an enormous man—wherever did you find him, darling?’

‘Just below the Reverend Mr Watts’s house. Which room shall I put him in, Mother?’

‘The comer bedroom at the back, I think. He’s not English, is he?’

‘Dutch. Going to Babeny.’

He came back as she spoke. ‘You’ll want to phone,’ said Mrs Spencer. ‘It’s in my husband’s study.’ She opened a door. ‘Do come into the sitting-room when you’re ready.’

There was time to tell Mr Spencer about him before he joined them to be introduced to the rector. Eugenie perceived that the two men were going to get on well together; a chance remark of her father’s about the Bronze Age, still strongly evident on the moor, received a reply from their visitor which demonstrated not only a knowledge of that but a lively interest as well. Tea, taken round the fire, was a leisurely meal while the Reverend Mr Spencer expounded his theories about the stone huts, the tors and the very long history of the moors.

It was nice to see her father showing such interest, reflected Eugenie, getting supper ready in the kitchen. Over that meal, presently, the talk turned to just about every subject under the sun. It was only as she was getting ready for bed that she realised that their guest had told them almost nothing about himself. He came from Holland, he was a doctor, he had told them, but more than that they knew nothing. Did he live in England now? Was he on holiday? Why was he going to Babeny? Did he work at one of the hospitals in London perhaps? And just before she dropped off to sleep she wondered, was he married?

By morning the mist had thinned sufficiently for careful driving to be safe enough. Their visitor, eating a hearty breakfast, reiterated his thanks and declared his intention of leaving as soon as possible.

‘Well, don’t take any short cuts,’ said Eugenie matter-of-factly. ‘There’s a lot of boggy ground.’

He assured her that he would be careful.

Her father didn’t come down to breakfast and presently their visitor went upstairs to say his goodbyes, collect his bag and go out to the car. He stowed it in the boot and came back to where Eugenie and her mother were standing at the door.

‘I am in your debt,’ he told Mrs Spencer, ‘and I can never thank you enough for your kindness.’ He shook her hand and turned to Eugenie.

‘Goodbye—you were an angel just when I needed one—a sensible angel. I am greatly in your debt.’

She offered a hand. ‘I’m glad I could help. And do take care.’ She wanted very much to know where he was going after Babeny but he had offered no information, not even the smallest hint … She went out to the car with him and waved as he drove away. Extraordinary, she thought, watching the big car disappear round the bend in the lane, to meet a man and know that you loved him even though you might never see him again for the rest of your life. She hadn’t supposed falling in love was like that.

She went back to her mother and took her arm. ‘I should like to marry him,’ she said, and then added, ‘Don’t laugh.’

Her mother turned to look at her. ‘No, dear. Just remember this: if you’re meant to meet again and love each other and marry then nothing will prevent that happening.’

Eugenie kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’m not surprised Father married you.’ She paused, ‘I mean it, Mother.’

‘I know you do, darling. Now come indoors and we’ll get started on the chores.’

As they washed up together Eugenie said suddenly, ‘I don’t know the first thing about him and yet I feel as though I know him—have known him all my life.’

She went for a long walk that afternoon and allowed common sense to take over from a daydream which held no vestige of reality. The only thing that was real was the fact that she had fallen in love with a man she was most unlikely to see again. ‘Oh, well,’ said Eugenie, making her brisk way home again, ‘better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’

The temptation to find out about him from Tom Riley was very great but she had no reason to phone that gentleman. He and her father were acquaintances but that was all; besides, it seemed a bit sneaky to go behind Dr Rijnma ter Salis’s back …

There was a message for her when she got back home. Could she go and see the Reverend Mr Watts about the Mothers’ Union and the pram service and could she at the same time bring him some more aspirin?

‘He seems rather poorly,’ observed her mother. ‘You might take him some of the soup I made—there’s more than enough for us.’ She looked at her daughter’s faraway expression. ‘Have your tea first, darling.’

The Reverend Mr Watts opened the door to her. He looked woebegone and said peevishly, ‘Mrs Pollard hasn’t come near me. Just left the milk and papers and called through the letterbox that she wouldn’t be coming until I was better. She’s afraid of catching my cold.’

‘You can hardly blame her,’ said Eugenie bracingly. ‘She’s got five small children.’ She went past him into the kitchen to put down the soup. ‘You can look after yourself for a day or two, can’t you? Would you like the doctor to come? Dr Shaw at Holne is very good. Perhaps you need an antibiotic.’

‘No, no, there’s no need of that.’ He gave her an arch glance. ‘Of course, if I had a wife to look after me …’

She ignored the glance. ‘Mother has sent you some soup. Now if you will tell me what you want me to do about the pram service and the Mothers’ Union. Choir practice as usual, I suppose, on Thursday evening? Will you be well enough to take the Sunday service?’

‘I shall do my best. How is Mr Spencer?’

‘The doctors are very pleased with him—another month and he will be able to take over at least some of the parish work.’

The Reverend Mr Watts sneezed, blew his nose, and said, ‘How splendid. Then my services will no longer be required.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, I might be allowed to hope—Eugenie, would you consider marrying me? We could remain here—in a better house, of course, and I could take over from your father. I must say, with some truth, that I would prefer a living in one of the cities but I can see a good many improvements which need to be made. Living here, in the back of beyond, I suppose one doesn’t move with the times as one would in more modern surroundings.’

She was a kind-hearted girl; she also had a fine temper when roused. She allowed her kind heart to damp down the temper and answered him mildly.

‘Thank you for your proposal, but I’m sure that I could not make you happy, and I think that you will be much happier if and when you return to a city parish where your enthusiasm will be appreciated. You see, here life is rather different—more basic, if you see what I mean. We live close to nature and nature doesn’t change, does it?’

She held out a hand. ‘You’ve been such a help during these last few weeks. We are so very grateful. It must have been hard for you …’

The Reverend Mr Watts blew his nose again and looked pleased with himself despite his cold. ‘I believe that I have given your father’s parishioners an insight into various aspects of the church.’

‘Oh, indeed you have.’ She forbore to tell him what they had thought of them. He had, after all, done his best—would still do it once he had got rid of his cold.

She said briskly. ‘Well, I must go—there’s supper to get and odd jobs around the place.’

He went to the door with her. ‘You are happy here?’

‘Yes. This is my home …’

‘You had no difficulty in getting back yesterday? That awful fog.’

‘No difficulty at all …’

‘I thought I heard a car just after you left.’

‘Sound carries in the mist,’ she told him. ‘Let us know if you need any help.’

When she got home her mother asked, ‘What kept you, love? You’ve been ages?’

‘I have had a proposal of marriage which I refused, and the Reverend Mr Watts told me something of his views about updating us.’

‘You were polite, I hope, dear. Oh, I’m sure you were but you do have a hot temper when you are taken unawares. The poor man.’

‘He’ll go back to his big city and marry someone who’ll put his feet in a mustard bath and agree with everything he says.’

She caught her mother’s eye. ‘I don’t mean to be unkind, Mother, he’s a very good man, I’m sure, but somehow I can’t take him seriously.’ She added, ‘I don’t think he minded too much—me refusing him—I dare say he thought it would be a chance for him to take over from Father later on. even though his heart isn’t in rural living.’

‘Well, your father is doing so well that he should be able to return to wherever it is he wants to go before very long.’ Mrs Spencer began to slice bread. ‘I wonder if that nice man found his way safely to Tom Riley’s place?’

It seemed that he had, for the next morning the postman delivered a large box addressed to Mrs Spencer. There were roses inside, not just a handful but a couple of dozen, with a note signed A.R. ter S. The note itself was written in such a scrawl that Mrs Spencer wondered if he had written it in Dutch by mistake. Eugenie, invited to decipher it, being used to the handwriting of the medical profession, said, ‘No, it’s English, Mother. “With grateful thanks for your kind hospitality”.’

‘How clever you are, love. How very beautiful they are, and so many …’