Egyptian Honeymoon (16 page)

'Oh, by the way, I've brought you a present.'

He went out into the hall and returned carrying a large cardboard box, which he placed beside her.

'Open it and see if it fits.'

It was a mink coat. Though Noelle would not as a rule wear real fur, she could make an exception of mink, for the animals were not trapped, but raised on farms, and the coat was beautiful. Steve held it for her so that she could slip her arms into it. It might have been made for her.

'I've had enough experience in women's gear to be able to gauge your measurements accurately,' Steve said with satisfaction, and she wondered if he had ever given Marcia mink. 'Our guests will all have fur coats, and in that you'll look as fine as any of them.'

His words marred her pleasure in his gift. He had bought it not so much to please her, but to impress his acquaintances. She slipped it from her shoulders, folding it reverently, for her shop training had taught her to respect expensive clothes, and she knew from the quality of the fur that this coat had cost a packet.

'Thank you very much,' she said formally. 'It'll be a great comfort when the weather turns really cold.' He had been looking at her eagerly, as if he hoped for a warmer expression of gratitude, and she added quickly: 'You're very kind and very generous,' but the words were uttered mechanically. She was remembering what he had said when she had asked him to help Colonel Bates; he had been neither then.

'Well, at least those adjectives are different from those you usually bestow upon me,' he remarked caustically, and immersed himself in the evening papers. Ilse came to remove the coffee tray, and Noelle asked her to take the coat upstairs. Noelle perused a novel, very conscious of her husband's presence, and wishing he would talk, tell her of his day's doings, but she dare not question him, fearing to expose her ignorance of the commercial world and thus earn his scorn. But he did not speak until he said it was bedtime, wished her goodnight and they went to their separate rooms.

Noelle went into her room, where the bed had been turned down, her nightgown laid out, and the curtains drawn. Mrs Ingram trained her staff well. She need not fear that Steve would come to her, he had made it very clear that he had no such intention, but she derived no comfort from the knowledge, instead she had a feeling of anti-climax, and the bed looked very big and empty.

Steve was absent all Saturday, returning after she was in bed. It almost seemed as if he were trying to avoid her, but on Sunday, true to his promise, he drove her to the dogs' home. Noelle found it heartbreaking; so many eager affectionate animals longing to bestow their love and loyalty upon some human being, for though they were well treated, and the home was a sanctuary with no fear of destruction hanging over them, they lacked the individual attention for which they yearned.

She chose a rather odd-looking creature of mixed ancestry. Rough-haired, he was some sort of terrier, with a whiskery face, slate grey in colour, legs neither long nor short, with one flop ear, the other pricked, but such an intelligent, wistful look in his brown eyes that she could not resist him.

'He was found in a wood, tied to a tree, abandoned,' the warden told them.

'Oh, how can people be so cruel!'

Noelle imagined the dog's state of mind when he found himself deserted by those he had trusted.

'Better than being turned out on a motorway, as some of them are.'

'Not really?'

'I'm afraid so.'

They were expected to give a small donation, but Steve made out a generous cheque. Going home with the dog on her lap, again thinking of the Bates, Noelle remarked:

'It seems you've more feeling for dogs than people.'

'Dogs are not mercenary, and they're more grateful.'

Noelle stared out of the window beside her, wondering if that were intended as a dig at her. She would gladly have exchanged her wealth and comfort, her pearls and mink, for true companionship, and warm human sympathy, such as Hugh would have given her, but Steve only saw her as an adornment to his home and had ceased to want her in his bed.

He was away most of the following week, and Noelle found solace in the company of Pickles, as she called her dog. He took to life at Forest Lodge as an otter to water, accepting two good meals a day, his basket and walks in the woods as if he had never known anything less. He was suspicious of the staff, declaring war on the gardeners, who complained about the holes he dug in the flower-beds, but he gave Noelle wholehearted devotion, slept in her room at night, to Mrs Ingram's disapproval, and followed her everywhere. Fortunately he tolerated Ilse, who was a dog-lover, for Noelle foresaw that there would be times when she would have to leave him.

The following weekend, Steve had to attend a conference, and he suggested she should ask her family to stay to keep her company, which she was glad to do. They arrived on the Friday evening after he had left, her parents and Simon, who had a few days' leave. Mrs Esmond acted as though she and not her daughter were mistress of the house, convinced Noelle had no idea how to run it. She antagonised Mrs Ingram with her prying, and Noelle had to soothe her down, reminding her that her mother would be going on Sunday night, and she could ignore her interference.

Marjorie Esmond criticised Steve's absence— surely Noelle could have accompanied him to the conference? Wives often did.

'Oh, I didn't want to go,' Noelle declared, concealing the fact that it had not been suggested. 'I think men are better on their own at these business do's.'

Her mother snorted. 'That may be the modern point of view, but I don't believe in married couples being separated. I've never slept a night apart from your father since we were married.'

Noelle concealed a smile, thinking her father would not have minded an occasional holiday from his wife's domineering presence, but she said nothing.

Mr. Esmond, more perceptive, was troubled by her appearance. She did not look happy.

'It's working out all right?' he asked anxiously when they were alone.

'Oh yes, Daddy, why shouldn't it?'

'I don't know, but you don't look like a blooming newlywed. Is Steve kind to you?'

'Oh, very, he's too generous, but I'm having to get acclimatised to life at Forest Lodge. Takes a bit of getting used to.' Not for worlds would she want him to suspect that Steve neglected her.

'Well, it's a bit bigger than our semi,' he laughed, but he was not satisfied.

Simon's company was pure joy; with him Noelle recovered some of her normal gaiety, that had been quenched when Hugh died, and not until now revived. On the Sunday morning, her parents having decided to go to church, Marjorie wanting, her daughter suspected, to roll up in the Prescott limousine, she and her brother played truant. Simon lent her a pair of jeans, which she wore with an old sweater, and she unearthed a pair of Wellingtons in the greenhouse, where someone had left them. They went down to the boathouse, where Steve housed a punt, and an inflatable dinghy. They blew up the latter with a foot pump, found to their joy it was watertight and paddled out into mid-stream.

It was a fine, windy day, the breeze stripping the last leaves from the trees and driving white clouds across the sky—an unusual day for November, which is usually misty and overcast. Pickles was supremely happy, chasing water voles and scattering ducks, one ear down, one ear up, as he splashed through the reeds. The difficulties and traumas that had accumulated since her marriage were blown away by that same healing breeze. With her tangled hair flowing down her back; a lovely colour in her cheeks, Noelle laughed and chaffed with Simon, as she sat in the dinghy, wielding her paddle with more splashing than progress, and the boat rocked and danced on the rippling water as if it too were imbued with their effervescent spirits. Noelle looked about sixteen, to Simon's seventeen, she who had almost forgotten what it was like to be young and irresponsible.

A racing craft went by, taking advantage of the fine day to put in some practice, eight oars in perfect rhythm, their diminutive cox crouched in the stern. They ceased their foolery to allow it passage undisturbed.

'Do you row at college?' Noelle asked.

Simon made a face. 'No, too much hard work, those poor devils work at it like galley slaves. Messing about on the river is fun, but you have to have a vocation to want to race. Does Steve row?'

'I suppose so.' She was vague about her husband's recreations. He had occasionally taken her out in the punt before they were engaged, and she recalled his lithe graceful figure in flannels, as he had manoeuvred the pole. He played a hard game of tennis, but not with her, she was not in his class. He had not had much leisure for sport in his hardworking youth, but whatever he did, he did well.

'Shame about that conference, I'd like to have seen him again.'

'Oh, you will eventually.' Noelle looked at her muddy boots and stained jeans. She would not have dared to dress like this if there had been any chance of Steve returning, and seeing her so clad. Always he expected her to appear well groomed and immaculate as became an ex-model, nor did she think he would sympathise with the fun they were enjoying in the dinghy. It was unbecoming to the chatelaine of his home.

Simon saw her face had clouded and grinned impishly.

'Poor old Sis, does your new position take some living up to?'

She said with dignity: 'It's no sinecure being mistress of Forest Lodge.'

'But it was for that you married him, didn't you?'

'I did not!'

She looked affectionately at her brother's tousled hair, so like her own, his mischievous blue eyes. Did he realise he owed his college fees to Steve's generosity? But if he did it would not trouble him, for he had a happy philosophy that those who had should share with those who had not. He called it socialism. But he might have been upset to learn that Steve's assistance was part of her bride price.

'Was it for love, then?' Simon looked disbelieving. 'Of course he's a wonderful guy, but you never looked at him as you used to look at Hugh.'

'Fancy you noticing that,' she mocked. She hadn't loved Steve then, but she did now, and Hugh had receded into the limbo of the past. 'There are different kinds of loving,' she said thoughtfully, trailing one hand in the water.

'Are there? I've always found my girl-friends all too boringly similar,' Simon told her with an air of manly wisdom that made her want to laugh. He looked at his watch, which fortunately was waterproof. 'I say, isn't it nearly lunch time? I'm hungry and the church parade will have returned.'

'Yes, we must go back.'

Noelle reluctantly picked up her paddle and with a vigorous stroke sent the dinghy heading for the bank. The carefree interlude was over, she must make herself look respectable for the formal meal served with all the trimmings in the big dining-room, the room where the dark panelling made an effective frame for her hair. Her mother delighted in being served in state, but Noelle herself would have preferred a picnic snack on the river bank. But to be fair, it was a treat for Marjorie to eat a meal she had not had to cook herself.

Simon deflated the dinghy, and a filthy, panting, but very happy little dog joined them in answer to Noelle's call. They themselves were no less dirty and bedraggled. Most of the accumulated dust in the boathouse seemed to have been wiped off on Simon's jeans, and Noelle had caught her sleeve on a nail, the tear and fast unravelling wool adding to her unkempt appearance. They started up the long mown slope towards the house, both laughing joyously at some nonsense of Simon's.

Then Noelle stopped dead as if she were shot, all her animation dying away as she exclaimed:

'Oh, my God!'

For at the top of the slope Steve was standing, watching their approach, with a scowl on his handsome face.