Midsummer Star

‘Celine…’ begged her mother in a wispy voice. Celine knelt down beside the elderly man and took a good look. He was breathing, but in a heavy stertorous way and he made no response to her urgent voice.

‘Barney, telephone Dr Grady—ask him to come at once. Mother, turn back the bed in the dressing room by Mrs Seymour’s room. We’ve got to get him upstairs.’

She looked around her and her father nodded. ‘Right—but we’ll need more help…’

Nicky had been standing well back, but now he came forward and said reluctantly: ‘You’ll need a hand. What’s the matter with him?’

Celine was too anxious to do more than feel momentary surprise at his words, but perhaps he was so shocked… They picked Mr Seymour up carefully, the three of them, and got him upstairs and on to the bed. Celine took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket and undid his tie. ‘We’d better not do anything else until Dr Grady comes. I’ll stay here with him, if you like, Mother, I’m sure Mrs Seymour would like a cup of tea…’

She had expected Nicky to stay too, but he didn’t, she found herself alone with the quiet figure on the bed, trying to think sensibly. Would Mr Seymour go to hospital—and the nearest one was at Dorchester, quite a way away—or would he have to stay where he was, in which case it wouldn’t be practical to have any one else in the house. She went to the bed and stood looking down at the nice elderly face, flushed now and somehow one-sided. As she looked, the lids lifted and the faded blue eyes stared back at her. She bent down and caught one of his hands in hers. ‘Mr Seymour, it’s all right. You’re in bed, the doctor is coming…’

He tried to speak and she bent lower to hear him. After several attempts he whispered thickly: ‘Oliver—send for Oliver.’

She murmured soothingly. Who in the world was Oliver?

The hand in hers stirred urgently. ‘Oliver…’ He was lapsing into unconsciousness again and remained so until Dr Grady came into the room.

‘Good girl,’ he said softly. ‘Stay here, will you? In case—In case I need anything—his wife is too upset. Has he roused?’

‘Yes, he managed to say something. Send for Oliver—I expect Mrs Seymour will know who that is.’

‘We can ask presently.’ He began his examination and presently straightened. ‘A stroke, but not too severe. A week’s rest—he’ll have to stay here. I’ll get hold of a nurse, then as soon as he’s fit enough he can go home by ambulance.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’m being hopeful, mind you.’

‘Yes, well, that’s all right, we’ll manage. I suppose we’d better not have any other people while he’s here? I mean, bed and breakfast people.’

‘I heard about that in the village. Well, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Heaven knows the place is large enough to swallow a dozen just as long as they’re not too noisy. Extra work for you, though.’

There was a movement at the door and Nicky came in. He said shortly: ‘Well, what’s the damage?’

Dr Grady glanced at him with shrewd eyes. ‘A slight stroke; nothing too worrying, I hope, a week’s rest should make it possible for your father to return home. He’ll need a nurse, I’ll see about that. Celine tells me he was asking for someone…’

‘He wants me to send for Oliver.’

Nicky frowned. ‘Oh, good old Oliver, everyone’s mainstay and prop,’ and at her enquiring look: ‘My cousin—he’s a doctor, worthy and dull. I suppose if Father wants him he’ll have to be sent for.’

‘I’ll stay here while you telephone,’ said Celine, ‘and would you ask Barney to come up and we’ll get your father into bed.’

‘OK, I suppose we’d better send for him. Let’s hope he can tear himself away from his precious patients.’

He went out of the room, leaving Celine vaguely unhappy.

‘Not much love lost there, presumably,’ said Dr Grady, and watched the ready colour creep into her cheeks.

‘He’s upset,’ she said softly, she didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Perhaps this cousin’s what he says—he sounds tiresome.’

CHAPTER TWO

DR GRADY came back that evening, bringing Nurse Stevens with him—a severe, stout lady, bordering on middle age, but reluctantly, if tinted hair and elaborate make-up were anything to go by. Celine relinquished her patient thankfully, showed Nurse Stevens to her room and offered a meal. ‘If you’ll just say when you would like your meals, I’ll come and sit with Mr Seymour,’ she offered. ‘Did you have to come far?’

‘Yeovil. I’ve told Dr Grady that he must find a nurse to do night duty; I’m prepared to sit with the patient tonight, but I can’t work all day and all night too.’

‘No, of course not. I’m sure he’ll get someone to share your duties. Until then, I’ll help all I can, and I’m sure Mrs Seymour will sit with him to give you a break.’

Nurse Stevens spoke bitingly. ‘I’ll decide for myself, thank you, Miss Baylis. In the meanwhile, perhaps I could have something on a tray later on—about nine o’clock will do. And something left out for the night, of course.’ She cast a disapproving eye on the faded wallpaper. ‘You have servants, I suppose?’

‘Two. But this is a difficult house to run; I’ll look after you, Nurse Stevens.’

Celine made her escape and met Dr Grady coming out of the drawing-room, where he had been talking to Mrs Seymour. ‘What in heaven’s name have you brought us?’ she demanded in a fierce soft voice. ‘She wants trays of food and wanted to know if we had servants. I didn’t know there were people like her left!’

He grinned at her. ‘All I could get at short notice. But if it makes you feel better, Mrs Seymour is quite prepared to sit with him for as long as needed, and Oliver is on his way.’

‘And if he’s anything like Nurse Stevens I shall crown him,’ said Celine crossly.

She was perched on the kitchen steps, slapping paint on to a worn out drainpipe when she heard the car coming. ‘If that’s Oliver,’ she muttered, ‘let him ring the bell—Barney can let him in.’ She had had a rotten morning after a short night, what with carrying up trays and answering frequent bells from the sickroom—besides, she had seen almost nothing of Nicky. It had been a relief when Mrs Seymour pronounced herself quite capable of sitting with her still unconscious husband while Nurse Stevens took some exercise, which left Celine free for an hour before seeing to the tea. She hadn’t bothered to pretty herself up, indeed, she had got on an old pair of jeans, paint-stained and none too clean, and a cotton sweater which had once been expensive, but now was a much washed pale blue. All the same, she looked quite beautiful on her stepladder, and the man who got out of the Aston Martin paused to look at her before strolling across the gravel towards her.

‘If you ring the bell, Barney will let you in,’ said Celine tartly, and added: ‘Good afternoon.’ She glanced down at him and saw that he was a large man, with wide shoulders and rugged good looks. His hair was fair going grey at the temples, and his eyes were very bright blue.

He looked up at her and smiled slowly. ‘Miss Celine Baylis, the daughter of the house,’ he observed placidly. ‘How do you do? I’m Oliver Seymour.’

Celine dipped her brush in the paint. It was a pity that she couldn’t quite reach the end of the drainpipe, but she went busily over a bit she’d already done till he reached up and took the brush from her. ‘If you’ll come down, I’ll just do that end bit for you.’

And she found herself doing just that, standing ungraciously while he finished her work, put the brush tidily in the jamjar on top of the steps and the lid on the paint. ‘Could we go into the house?’ he suggested gently, just as though she should have suggested that minutes earlier.

Worse than Nurse Stevens! she decided silently, marching him briskly towards the front door; he was going to be one of those infuriating people who took charge the moment they poked their noses into anything.

She flung the door wide. ‘Do come in,’ she said haughtily. ‘Mrs Seymour’s sitting with Mr Seymour—the nurse is taking some exercise, but I’ll find Nicky.’

His eyes searched her face. ‘Ah, yes, Nicky—of course.’

He had a pleasant voice, deep and rather slow, but something in its tone made her glance at him. He returned the look with a gentle smile.

Lazy, she thought, and a bit dim—knows everything better than anyone else but can’t be bothered. Why on earth is he here?

She left him in the sitting-room and went in search of Nicky, whom she found asleep in the drawing-room. The look of irritability on his face when she wakened him rather took her aback, but it was replaced so quickly by a charming smile that she imagined that she had fancied it.

‘Your cousin has just arrived,’ she told him, and was disconcerted to hear the deep voice just behind her.

‘Ah, Nick—a pity to have disturbed you. I’ll go straight up to Uncle James, if I may, and see the nurse later. Is Aunt Mary there too?’

Nicky had sat up, but not got off the sofa. He stared up at the big man, leaning against a chair with his hands in his pockets. ‘As far as I know,’ he said ungraciously. ‘It’s all such a nuisance…’ He caught Celine’s surprised look and went on smoothly: ‘It’s been a terrible shock.’

‘I can see that,’ said his cousin, his voice very even. He turned on his heel and Celine perforce followed him out of the room; she would rather have stayed with Nick, but someone had to show this tiresome man where his uncle was.

Half way up the stairs he asked: ‘I see you do bed and breakfast. Have you a bed for me?’

She said stiffly: ‘There is a room, yes. Have you come far?’

‘Edinburgh.’