A Secret Infatuation

‘Buttered toast? I’m sure you could eat a slice. We’re making good time but we still have a fair way to go.’

She sat down and poured her tea and drank it while a gentle flow of small talk flowed over her, nothing that needed her full attention and requiring nothing more than a brief reply from time to time. It was soothing and her ill-humour melted away; she found herself telling him about her father’s illness and the Reverend Mr Watts and how she missed the moor. They went back to the car presently, and although they had little to say to each other the silence was friendly now.

It was late evening by now and dark, and presently it began to drizzle with rain. There was nothing to see and the road ran ahead of them, almost empty of traffic. Uninteresting, even boring, but Eugenie was content; it had been a terrible blow to discover that he was going to marry but just for the moment he was here beside her, large and apparently enjoying her company. As far as she was concerned their journey could go on for ever.

The Bentley tore along, away from the A303 and on to the M5 with Exeter’s city lights shining in the distance, and then presently they were on the Plymouth road and, all too soon for her, turning off through Ashburton, climbing slowly towards Pounds-gate and then down the hill to Dartmeet. They were travelling slowly now because of the sheep roaming free, but it wasn’t long before he took the narrow lane leading to the village and drew up silently outside the Rectory door.

Eugenie glanced at her watch. Just over four hours. They had gone too quickly. He got out and opened her door and she said, ‘You’ll come in and have something? Mother’s sure to have—’

He cut her short. ‘1 would have liked that, but I must get back to Exeter. I’ll see you on Thursday, about six o’clock.’

She was aware that her mother was standing at the door watching them. ‘Thank you for the lift,’ she told him. ‘I’ll be ready for you. And do drive carefully.’

He smiled down at her but she didn’t see his face clearly in the dark. He got into the car and drove away then, leaving her to go indoors and explain to her mother that he wasn’t able to stop.

Her mother led the way to the kitchen. ‘Just as long as he has a bed for the night and a good supper to put inside him. He’s going to drive you back, darling?’

‘Yes, I’m to be ready at six o’clock. How’s Father?’

‘Very well, considering. Mr Watts has got over his cold and I helped him with the Mothers’ Union and Sunday school.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘We miss you, love.’

She put a bowl of soup before Eugenie and cut some bread. ‘He’ll be hungry, that nice Dutchman of yours.’

‘He’s not mine,’ said Eugenie bleakly. ‘He’s engaged to a girl in Holland.’

Mrs Spencer eyed her daughter. ‘But not married. Did you talk about her?’

Eugenie shook her head. ‘He didn’t want to, I think. He just said yes and no, if you see what I mean.’

‘I wonder why. Most men when they’re in love with a girl never stop talking about her.’

Eugenie supped her soup and took a huge bite of bread. ‘I think he thought I was being inquisitive.’

‘And were you, dear?’

‘I wanted to know, Mother, and now I do I can do something about it, can’t I? Forget him.’

She spoke cheerfully, not believing a word of what she was saying.

Her two days at home were crammed full of odd jobs. Tiger had to be taken to the vet in Buckfastleigh to have his injections, and while she waited for him she did the weekly shopping for her mother and visited old Mrs Ash who lived with her son on an outlying farm. She took a cake with her and a bunch of flowers, for the old lady was celebrating her ninetieth birthday in a week’s time, and when she got back home the Reverend Mr Watts was with her father, intent on changing the times of the church services. Eugenie plunged unasked into the discussions.

‘Those times haven’t been altered in decades. You only want to do so because it’s more convenient for you.’ She took no notice of her father’s, ‘Hush, Eugenie,’ but went on with some heat, ‘What is the point? You’ll be gone in another week or two and everything will be changed back again.’

The Reverend Mr Watts, torn between annoyance at not getting his own way and the feelings he cherished towards her, became incoherent, so that she said briskly, ‘You see what I mean; I’m glad you agree.’

She gave him a brilliant smile and clinched the matter by saying that she would walk with him back to his house.

When she came back to the Rectory her father said mildly, ‘You were rather hard on the poor man, my dear.’

‘Oh, pooh, Father. You know you didn’t agree with a word he said only you’re too nice to say so.’ She kissed the bald patch on his head and went away to help her mother get the supper.

It was still raining the next day but there was plenty to do in the garden. She spent the morning pottering happily, digging the ground ready for planting later on—asters and dahlias and chrysanthemums—useful flowers for the church as well as the house. Since it cleared as if by magic while they were having lunch, and there was a steady wind blowing, she washed the kitchen curtains, hung them out and ironed them and hung them up again before changing into the tweed jacket and skirt she had come down in, packing her overnight bag and going downstairs to wait for Mr Rijnma ter Salis.

The last of the rain had long gone and the early evening was clear even if chilly. He arrived punctually, greeted Eugenie with a detached friendliness which ruffled her feelings, accepted coffee and biscuits from Mrs Spencer, chatted briefly to Mr Spencer and observed that perhaps they should be on their way.

He shook hands and Mrs Spencer gave him a warm invitation to call and see them any time he might be travelling in their part of the world. ‘We are a bit isolated,’ she pointed out, ‘but now you know that we are here …’

He thanked her with a smile and moved a little out of the way so that Eugenie could say her goodbyes. It was as they were going out of the door that her mother said in a regretful voice, ‘Joshua will be so sorry to have missed you, Eugenie. Shall I give him your love?’

She smiled at Mr Rijnma ter Salis. ‘The Reverend Mr Watts—he has been helping out while Ben has been ill.’

Eugenie turned a fulminating eye on her parent. ‘Don’t bother, Mother dear,’ she said sweetly, ‘he knows how I feel about him.’

In the car presently Mr Rijnma ter Salis asked, ‘This reverend gentleman—Joshua? He is understandably smitten with your charms? And do you return his regard?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Eugenie, ‘you know quite well that I don’t. He can’t even boil an egg …’

‘You consider that boiling eggs is desirable in a husband?’

‘You’re making fun of me. But since you ask, I do think that a man should be able to do a bit of basic cooking. Can you cook?’

They were rushing towards Exeter, the city’s lights ahead of them.

‘I can certainly boil an egg, make toast and fry bacon. I make a good cup of tea, too.’

‘Oh, who taught you?’ She was being rude and not caring about it.

‘My mother. She has always suffered from the illusion that I might marry someone who had none of the culinary arts.’

She might as well go on being rude, she reflected. ‘Your fiancée—can she cook?’

‘I think it is most unlikely, but since I employ an excellent housekeeper that is hardly a matter which need cause unease.’

‘You’re rich,’ stated Eugenie, aware that she was behaving unforgivably. He would never offer her a lift again …

‘Er—you are refreshingly forthright, Eugenie. I’ll set your mind at rest by saying that I make a living.’

‘You work hard for it, though. I expect you’re worth every penny …’

He said placidly, ‘I aim to give value for money.’

She fell silent then, and presently he asked, ‘And you, Eugenie—from what I have seen of your work, you give value for money too. What do you intend to do when you leave?’

‘I’m not sure. You see, I don’t want to be tied because of Father. I expect I’ll have to go to an agency so that if I need to go home I’ll be able to do so. I don’t think I shall like it very much, but hospitals want contracts.’

He said mildly, ‘You could marry the Reverend Mr Watts—he would, I feel sure, be very satisfied and you would be on hand should your father need you.’

She said forcefully, ‘Have you any idea what Joshua is like? Father has had the parish for years, ever since I can remember; it would break his heart if there were any changes. I do not wish to marry the Reverend Mr Watts …’