A Fortnight by the Sea

Half a mile outside the town Theresa had suddenly seized Elinor’s arm and pointed with horror at the road ribboning out behind them. Elinor had just time to catch sight of a wheel from the bus bouncing along on its own before the vehicle fell over.

When Elinor came out of hospital some weeks later it seemed a very good idea for Theresa to accompany her on the voyage home and see her settled into temporary accommodation. Two or three months had lengthened into six, into a year. And then there was the move to the new bungalow, Theresa would be so useful at such a time. Miss Tillard had always intended to lead an active life during her retirement, but the England in which she perched her exotic bungalow was a good deal changed from the country in which she had grown up; in fact she frequently felt herself in the first year or two after her return as much of an alien as she had felt during the recent upheavals in the Gold Coast.

And physically she had never been the same woman since her disastrous trip in the bus. Time drifted by and she made a cosy little nest for the two of them on the outskirts of this quiet English village. She saw a certain amount of her brother and his family, but nothing like as much as she had expected.

She had barely moved into her bungalow when her brother’s elder daughter got married and took herself off with her new husband to the other side of England. A year later the second girl also married; Miss Tillard had scarcely had time to congratulate herself on the fact that Pauline would be living at Oakfield, more or less on her own doorstep, when she learned that Godfrey Barratt intended to make his career in the Army.

Eighteen months later Elinor’s brother died and his widow sold her house, disposed of the half-share in the estate agency to a Tillard cousin – neither of the girls having the slightest inclination to concern themselves with the firm – and took herself off to Spain to live.

The next eight or nine years floated past Elinor like a none too pleasant dream. She no longer even raised the question of sending Theresa back to Africa; without her she would have felt herself totally isolated, a prey to melancholy. It scarcely ever occurred to Godfrey Barratt’s father, perfectly content with his life at Oakfield, his long-settled hobbies and interests, to invite Miss Tillard in for a meal or to share in an outing, nor did it ever cross the mind of Bessie Forrest – who ran Oakfield after the death of Mrs Barratt – that she might make overtures of friendship to the young African woman at the bungalow.

Miss Tillard was able to feel little regret when old Mr Barratt died and it was with deep relief that she learned soon afterwards that his son was leaving the Army and coming home to settle.

Godfrey stood now just inside Miss Tillard’s gate. Must be about time for Nightingale to be leaving; he walked briskly up the path and pressed the bell. The door was opened a minute or two later by Theresa who gave him her usual calm glance.

‘Do come in.’ She stood aside to let him enter the bright airy hall decorated with mementoes of Africa. ‘I don’t think Dr Nightingale will be much longer.’ She opened the door into the sitting room. ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting in here.’ A little heavier than when she had first come to England but still trimly built, rather tall, with a graceful, erect way of walking. Not a particularly handsome woman but pleasant enough to look at. Large brown eyes, a smooth skin the colour of milky coffee, shining black hair with a strong wave, taken neatly back and arranged in heavy coils.

A few minutes later Godfrey heard the murmur of voices and after a brief interval the sitting room door opened and Theresa ushered in the young doctor.

‘I gather you’re worried about your aunt,’ Nightingale said cheerfully when Theresa had discreetly removed herself.

‘Actually, Miss Tillard is my wife’s aunt,’ Godfrey said in precise tones.

Nightingale smiled affably. ‘I’ve written her a prescription, we’ll see how she gets along with that. I’ll look in again on Monday.’

‘She’s had a number of these upsets over the last few years.’

Nightingale raised his shoulders. ‘Colonial types,’ he said lightly. ‘Like their curries and their groundnut stews. A bit hard on the digestion. I’ve had a word with Miss Onil, she seems a sensible woman.’ He glanced round the walls, at the wooden masks, crossed spears, curious shaped objects of incised brass. ‘Quite a little outpost of Empire.’ He picked up his bag. ‘No reason why you shouldn’t go in and see your aunt.’

CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_8a5585b0-d37e-5c28-b18c-b5e6c06886ff)

Miss Tillard had raised herself against the pillows when Theresa ushered Godfrey into the bedroom. ‘I feel a little better already,’ Elinor said with an air of thankfulness. ‘I don’t know if it’s just the effect of Dr Nightingale’s manner.’ She smiled faintly. ‘He’s rather bracing.’

Theresa went along to the kitchen to make the coffee. ‘I’m worried about her,’ Miss Tillard said with an anxious look.

‘I’m sure you’ve no need to be.’ Godfrey patted her hand. ‘She always appears very content.’

Miss Tillard put up a thin hand and touched her hair, once so long, so thick and dark, now sparse, almost totally white. She sighed and shook her head. ‘It isn’t the present I’m thinking about, it’s the future. Theresa’s future.’ She shot a direct look at Godfrey. ‘My own future may not extend all that far.’

‘You mustn’t talk like that. You’ll be up and about in no time at all.’

‘I haven’t been fair to Theresa,’ Miss Tillard said as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ve been a very selfish woman. Whether I die this year or in ten years’ time, what is to become of her when I’m gone?’

Godfrey frowned. ‘Surely I understood from you that you’ve made provision for Theresa?’

Elinor made an impatient movement of her head. ‘I added a codicil to my will ten or twelve years ago,’ she said with contempt. ‘I’ve left her some money.’

Godfrey had never actually seen a copy of the will but he believed that he had a pretty good idea of its contents. Miss Tillard was fond of asking his advice, there were a number of matters in which she allowed him to handle affairs directly but certain nooks and crannies of her financial concerns she kept to herself.

‘A thousand pounds,’ Elinor said now, mentioning the figure to him for the first time, uttering the words with scorn. ‘It seemed a substantial sum at the time. It isn’t worth much today.’

‘It strikes me as very fair,’ Godfrey said mildly. It occurred to him with bitter amusement that in a month or two a thousand pounds might strike him as a princely sum. For a moment he entertained a wild notion of opening his mouth and saying, ‘I am very probably on the verge of bankruptcy,’ and allowing events to move on from there. But he merely passed a hand across his mouth as if obliterating all traces of the unspoken words. ‘I’m sure Theresa wouldn’t expect more,’ he added.

‘She has no friends in England,’ Elinor said fiercely.

‘Oh, come now!’ Godfrey’s tone held reproof. There’s myself, Pauline—’

‘And none in Africa.’ Elinor’s expressive look appeared to attach little importance to the warmth of the Barratt family’s feeling for Theresa. ‘Where would she go? What would she do?’

‘I really think we can forget the question of Theresa’s future for the present,’ Godfrey said soothingly. ‘We’ll discuss it thoroughly when you’re quite better.’ He put a hand into his breast pocket and drew out some papers. ‘By the way, I need your signature—’ Elinor listened with an abstracted air as he explained, she gave a brusque nod when he had finished.

‘I could simply increase the legacy.’ She frowned down at the bedspread. Godfrey picked up a magazine from the top of a rosewood chest and laid it in front of Miss Tillard. ‘Or I could cancel the legacy,’ she added. ‘Leave her the bungalow and a small income for life.’ She took the pen Godfrey held out, glanced at the papers he placed on the firm surface of the magazine. ‘Or I could make it a decent income and cut down on the bequests to the girls.’ She wrote her signature to each paper in turn in the place where Godfrey’s finger indicated. ‘Both the girls are well enough provided for,’ she said in a musing tone as if she were simply speaking her thoughts aloud and had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room.

Godfrey gathered up the papers and returned them to his pocket. There was a faint rattle of a tray outside the door, a light knock and Theresa came in with the coffee.

‘If I might ask you something,’ she said quietly to Godfrey a few minutes later. ‘You mentioned over the phone that Mrs Barratt might be calling in later on. I wonder – if she thought of coming this afternoon – if she would mind if I went off to Chilford while she was here to sit with Miss Tillard. I’d like to go in on the bus to have the doctor’s prescription made up. I wouldn’t really care to leave Miss Tillard on her own just yet.’

‘Nonsense!’ Elinor said loudly. ‘I’ll be perfectly all right on my own. Pauline wouldn’t find it in the least convenient to come over on a Saturday afternoon at this time of the year.’

‘Of course she’ll come over,’ Godfrey said. ‘She would have come with me this morning except that Theresa felt that two visitors at once might be too tiring for you.’

‘I won’t hear of her coming,’ Elinor said resolutely. ‘I don’t in the least mind being left by myself.’

‘I shall settle the matter,’ Godfrey said, ‘by going into Chilford myself and getting the prescription made up. It won’t take me any time at all in the car.’

‘That’s a much better idea,’ Elinor said. ‘And then Pauline can come to see me just when it suits her.’

Godfrey held out his hand. ‘I’ll take the prescription now. Before I forget it.’

Elinor looked on as the paper was handed over. A trace of reluctance surely in Theresa’s movements. Elinor felt a pang of remorse. Theresa had in all probability been looking forward to the little outing to Chilford, a brief escape from the tedium of her duties. She must be given a whole day off the very moment Elinor was recovered.

Anxiety about Theresa’s future began to thrust at her again. I can’t let it slide, she thought, it must be settled.

‘The boys will be home from school on Tuesday.’ Godfrey had not yet finished his coffee. ‘If you’re feeling strong enough by then they’ll come over to see you.’

‘I shall look forward to that,’ Elinor murmured. She continued to nod and smile as Godfrey talked about the boys and their summer camp. It isn’t really right and proper to discuss the question of Theresa’s legacy with Godfrey, she thought suddenly. He is almost an interested party, in fact he definitely is an interested party – married to Pauline, father of the two boys, all beneficiaries under the present arrangement. It was putting him in an impossible position to ask for his advice. Even supposing he was willing to discuss it again at present.

No, the thing was – she saw it quite clearly now – to say nothing more about it to Godfrey but to talk it over with Henry Whittall; Henry would give her impersonal professional advice.

‘You might give Henry a ring,’ she said with a casual air as Godfrey set down his cup and stood up to go. ‘Ask him to call in and have a word with me. It’s all right,’ she added reassuringly, seeing the look on Godfrey’s face, ‘I’m not going to wear myself out talking to him for hours about my affairs, or anything foolish like that. But there are one or two little things – if he would just look in for a moment some time during the next few days, no desperate hurry, then we could fix a time for later on, when I’m well again, to go into things properly. In the meantime, he could be looking up one or two details for me.’

‘Very well then,’ Godfrey said without enthusiasm. ‘I’ll phone him.’ Henry Whittall was a clerk in the firm of Chilford solicitors who handled Miss Tillard’s affairs. He was a local man, a bachelor, a couple of years younger than Godfrey; he had known the Tillard girls since they were all youngsters growing up in Chilford; he lived now on his own in a cottage a mile or so from Oakfield. His firm also counted the Barratt family among its clients, so Godfrey had known Whittall for a number of years on a business level; in his more privileged boyhood his path had crossed Henry’s only on those occasions when young Whittall had been sent up to Oakfield with a legal paper to be signed by Godfrey’s father.

Godfrey stooped now and kissed Elinor lightly on the cheek. ‘Look after yourself,’ he said. ‘I’ll call in about four o’clock with the medicine.’

He was halfway down the slope leading from the bungalow when he glanced over to his left, at the road coming from the village and saw, a couple of hundred yards away, a toiling figure weighed down on each side by a shopping bag. Henry Whittall, he recognized the figure at once; no other adult male in this region plodded along on Saturday mornings with his week’s fodder slung about him. I’ll catch him at the crossroads, Godfrey thought, save me a phone call. The sight of Henry aroused in him no emotion of any kind. Either you wanted to speak to Whittall on business or you did not want to speak to Whittall on business and apart from those two concepts Henry really had no existence in Godfrey’s mind, or for that matter, in the minds of very many other people.

Godfrey reached the intersection and stood waiting by the grassy bank. When Henry was within earshot he called out pleasantly, ‘Good morning, Whittall, I’d like a word with you.’ Henry gave a single nod in reply. ‘I’ve just been to see Miss Tillard,’ Godfrey said when Henry had reached him and set his burdens down.