Nurse Ann Wood (16 page)

She looked at him and stars shone in her eyes, stars of anger. What did they think she was, Mrs. Woods and Beverley? What were they trying to do to her?

“You can’t go? But why not? Beverley thought you would go to be with her, and then when our party left, she was going to allow you to stay behind and dance with ... your friend. She had it planned like that Mrs. Woods has spoken of it too.”

Such petty treachery on the part of mother and daughter puzzled Ann. They had guessed, she supposed, that even if Iain broached the subject to her — and that would seem unlikely — she would not tell him her real reason for not going.

Cinderella! Ann’s lips curved slightly. No, she did not see herself in that role.

And now the children were back in the room demanding that Ann should hurry. “We’re not going by bus after all,” Emma announced. “Burrows is going to drive us there.”

As Ann had heard Mrs. Woods directing the handyman to some tasks in the basement, she stared. However she said nothing till they got down to the terrace where Averil was talking to Burrows.

“Mr. Burrows had to go into Sunbury later, so he’s decided to do his errands now and take us at the same time,” Averil explained.

Ann shook her head. “No, we’ll go by bus.” She turned to Sherrarde. “Goodbye, Mr. Sherrarde.”

“I’ll drive you into Sunbury,” he offered. The children greeted this with approval.

“Will you bring this car when you take Mummy to Matron’s Ball?” Guy demanded.

“No, Burrows will take everybody from here in the new car,” Mr. Sherrarde said, looking directly at Ann.

“Auntie Anne isn’t going,” Emma informed him. “Mummy says so. Mummy says she hasn’t got a dress.”

Iain swung round to look at Ann, and then, conscious of the interest on the faces of Miss Pollard, Burrows, and the children, he laughed.

“You ladies are all the same, Emma. You’ve never got anything fit to wear when you’re going out. Now then, in you get,” he said, opening the front door. “Your aunt and Miss Pollard will sit behind.”

Ann’s face was embarrassed. “But you said you were busy,” she protested.

“Not as busy as all that,” he returned, his glance sparing her. “Miss Pollard.”

Averil came with a certain amount of reluctance which she did not dare to express until later, and under her breath to Ann.

“This is spoiling the outing for me,” she muttered. “Why couldn’t you have let Burrows take us, Anne?”

“I heard Mrs. Woods giving him enough work to last for two afternoons,” Ann replied. “Don’t you realize, Averil, that what she had against you before was that you were wasting Burrows’ time? He is good-natured and will do anything for you, but you’ll lose him his job unless you’re careful.”

“He’d rather work at the Institute,” Averil said now, rather sulkily. “He only stays at Fountains because of me.”

Ann let that pass and turned her thoughts to her own predicament. Oh, what bad luck that the subject of the Ball had come up in the children’s hearing. Nothing would stop Emma from declaring the truth, particularly when it was inconvenient to her hearers.

And now ... Ann bit her lip. Whatever happened, she would not let Iain Sherrarde buy her a dress. If he
dared
to mention it...

The children at least enjoyed the outing. They prowled round one of the stores, found their present for Miss Pollard — a packet of very highly colored and highly scented soap which was carefully secreted in Iain Sherrarde’s overcoat pocket and at which the children kept sniffing delightedly, much to Ann’s amusement.

Miss Pollard had been despatched to a cafe to reserve a table for tea while this “secret” operation was performed. She was waiting for them outside and then they all went on to the harbor front to see the swans and feed them with bread which Miss Pollard had thoughtfully provided.

She took charge of the children and began to point out the various kinds of craft in the harbor, of which it seemed she had a fair knowledge.

“Miss Pollard’s brother helps to build boats,” Guy announced in explanation.

Ann thought, approvingly, she
is
good with the children when she is teaching them new things. I hope Iain notices. But of course he would. There was so little that ever escaped his keen eyes and hearing.

As they walked round the bay to the place where the moorhens were swimming, he said to Ann, “I’m glad we gave that girl another chance. She’s better with the children than I realized. A pity, in a way, that we’ve decided to send them to school.”

Ann stopped in her tracks. “You’ve decided to send them to school?” she ejaculated. “But I thought ... When are they to go?”

“Next term.” It was his turn to look surprised. “Surely you knew. Surely your mother and Beverley...”

“They haven’t spoken of it to me.”

He looked incredulous. “But you must have realized that that’s why I’ve been at Fountains so often, lately — trying to hammer out some sort of solution. Beverley has said so often that you didn’t want to be bothered with them, and Doctor Lyntrope seemed to think that they were so out of hand that no one could cope with them. After all, you, just as much as Miss Pollard, have been unable to prevent their running away.

“Last time, Mrs. Woods was very upset about the whole business. She said she was tired of carrying the responsibility alone. She’d had such hopes of you, but you’d let her down. And then Maureen came along with details of this school. It’s run just like a big family...”

“A family!” ejaculated Ann bitterly. “But that’s just what a school isn’t.”

“It isn’t ideal,” Sherrarde returned, his handsome eyes scanning her face anxiously. “Anne, I didn’t realize you had no knowledge of this. I didn’t realize you’d care so much.”

“It’s nothing to do with me, I suppose, but—”

“Of course it has something to do with you.” His voice was sharp. “You’re their aunt.”

Ann longed to tell him that she was nothing of the sort. But she couldn’t betray Mrs. Woods and Beverley, no matter how much they had let her down. “Next term?” she said dully. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Your sister and mother seemed to think you would soon be going back to — er — your job. Beverley is very much better in health than she was, but she is not strong enough yet to take charge of them. It’s not fair to throw the full responsibility on to Mrs. Woods. So I had to make a some decision.”

“Yes,” said Ann again dully. It had come then— the time when she must leave Fountains and go back and face her past.

Emma and Guy had run back to them and were urging them to hurry or the water chicks would have swum away. The time for any talk of a private nature had gone.

They played with the children on the beach for half an hour and then it was time for tea. Now came the ceremony of handing over the present, and Averil was suitably taken by surprise and professed herself enchanted by the highly scented pink and lavender and yellow tablets that the two children displayed.

Emma, never backward at dropping a hint, said, “We’d like to use it ourselves, wouldn’t we, Guy?”

Guy, more meticulous about the courtesies and in any case not particularly enamoured of soap, no matter how pink, lavender or yellow and highly scented, reproached his sister.

“It isn’t polite to say you’d like something that you’re giving someone for a present,” he said in a moral tone of voice.

Ann hugged him. It always touched her heart when Guy came out with one of his curiously old-fashioned remarks and she could never discover where he had heard them.

Iain seemed in high humor over tea and had the children in gales of laughter. Averil Pollard raised a significant eyebrow at Ann. There were very likely to be tears after all this excitement.

Ann decided it was time to intervene. “I think we ought to be making tracks for home now,” she said. “Are we to take the bus, Mr. Sherrarde?”

“No, I’ll take you home ... I...” And then he stopped in consultation. “Good lord, I’ve remembered that I promised to pick up my aunt and Maureen at the station. They’ve been to Rentham for the day.”

“We’ll go home by bus,” Ann told him hastily and with a cheerful smile, though a horrid little current of jealousy ran through her at the mention of Maureen Lyntrope’s name.

The children began to screw up their faces in disgust. They didn’t want to go in a bus. They wanted to go by car.

Iain was glancing at his watch. “I ought to go,” he muttered.

Between them, Ann and Miss Pollard hustled the children out of the cafe and they said a tearful farewell to “Uncle Iain.” Ann could cheerfully have shaken them.

On another occasion they would have been only too pleased and excited to be travelling by bus. But they were now in a contrary mood.

This was a busy time of the day and they had to wait in queue for a second bus before they could get on, and then it was so full that Guy and Emma had to sit on the girls’ knees, and they were inclined to be sulky about that.

They were temporarily placated by a game of spotting numbers of cars from the bus window, but this lost its savor when, just outside the town at some traffic lights, a big grey car drew alongside the bus and the children yelled: “Uncle Iain!”

He didn’t hear them, of course, as he was concentrating on the traffic — or was it that his sole passenger was taking up most of his attention?

Miss Pollard said, with a sideways look, “I thought that Mr. Sherrarde said he had to meet his aunt at the station.” And then, as the big car shot ahead, “It’s a pity you didn’t let Burrows bring us in, Miss Woods. We shouldn’t have had to come back in this uncomfortable fashion.”

Ann ignored the latter part of the remark, as it had been said at least three times while they had stood in the bus queue. But she couldn’t ignore the first part because the children immediately took it up.

“Auntie Anne,” demanded Emma in her loudest, most imperious voice, “why did Uncle Iain say he was meeting Aunt Mary? He told a lie.”

Ann reflected not for the first time how intimidating Emma would be once she passed the softness of extreme youth.

“It’s rude to accuse grown-ups of telling lies,” she rebuked, in a low, cool voice. “Look at the cars. You’re missing all the numbers.”

“Is it rude to say they told a story?” asked Guy ingeniously.

“Of course it is,” Miss Pollard put in now, firmly.

“Uncle Iain got the witch in his car. Do you think he likes the witch, Auntie Anne?” Emma’s trumpet-like voice demanded. Surrounding passengers were listening with obvious interest.

“It’s rude to call a person a witch,” Ann said in a low voice. “Look at that car. You’re missing
all
the numbers.”

“But it isn’t rude if she is a witch,” Emma insisted. “I expect she has bewitched Uncle Iain, and that’s why he told you a lie.”

The passengers were on the alert, obviously waiting for more.

“Emma!” Ann’s voice was exasperated. “Will you please stop talking and watch for the numbers.”

Tears were aching in her throat and she longed passionately to reach Fountains and be alone in her own room, where she could indulge her jealous misery to the full.

Emma’s face took on a half sulky, half mutinous pout. “I think it’s a silly game and I don’t want to play it any longer.”

Guy, as ever, was her faithful ally. “I think it’s a silly game. I don’t want to play either.”

“I don’t like travelling on a bus with all these people,” Emma announced now. “It makes me feel sick.” That gave her a pleasant reminder. “Guy
always
used to be sick when he went on a bus.” She peered over Ann’s shoulder to look interestedly at her brother on Miss Pollard’s knee on the seat behind.

Ann said hurriedly, “We shall soon be there. Emma, let’s count how many colors we can see.”

This, fortunately, caught the little girl’s fancy, as she knew she could always beat Guy at that game, and there was no further trouble, but all the same Ann heaved a sigh of relief as they got out into the fresh air. She caught the gleam in Miss Pollard’s eye. Yes, it probably would have been better to let Burrows take them in the car...

It would have saved her this further reminder that she was a person of no importance in the life of the Director of the Institute.

CHAPTER TWELVE

MRS. WOODS sprang a surprise next day. “Ann, you’d better come into Sunbury with me this morning,” she said. “It has just occurred to me that you won’t have anything suitable to wear for Matron’s Ball, and so I’ll treat you to a new dress.”

Ann froze. This was an odd
volte-face
after Mr. Sherrarde’s revelations yesterday afternoon. And was it the result of intervention from him? The idea was intolerable.

“I would prefer not to go to the Ball,” she said flatly. It might seem ungracious, but she could not bring herself to thank Mrs. Woods for her offer. Somehow she was sure that it had been forced upon her.

Mrs. Woods looked angry. “Don’t be silly,” she urged. “It will look very odd for you to stay at home when both Beverley and I are going. You’re staying here as my daughter and you must act the part.”

“Why have you suddenly decided that I should go? Has Mr. Sherrarde something to do with it? Yesterday Emma told him I had no dress. You haven’t ... he hasn’t...?”

Mrs. Woods leaned back in her chair and examined Ann’s face with a kind of cold curiosity. “My dear girl, do you
really
think that Mr. Sherrarde has any interest in you — apart from the fact that you are a nurse and are attending Beverley? That’s the only reason why I, and probably he, thinks you should be there ... to watch that she doesn’t overtire herself.”

Ann couldn’t restrain the retort which leapt to her lips. “There’ll be plenty of men — doctors, I mean — round her to see that she doesn’t do that.”

“And you can’t bear to be there to see it. You’re jealous of her, aren’t you? Jealous, because of Iain Sherrarde.”

Ann found that color was flooding her face in an angry wave. “Mrs. Woods, you have no right to say such a thing!” But she knew the woman was quite capable of repeating the insinuation to Iain Sherrarde himself. Ann guessed that he had been in touch with Mrs. Woods, despite her denials. He intended her to go to the Ball so that she could be on hand if Beverley collapsed as she had done once before from too much excitement. No doubt he had told Mrs. Woods that if it were a question of a dress then Ann must be provided with one.

Mrs. Woods looked at her perturbed face. “Sink your pride, my dear,” she advised. “It won’t break me to buy you a dress, and in a way I owe you that.”

And that was true enough, since she had received no salary since she came here, thought Ann. This seems the lesser of the two humiliations. I couldn’t bear her to tell him that I won’t go because of his attentions to Beverley...

She said quietly, “Very well, Mrs. Woods, if you insist...”

The other smiled and a close observer might have noted a touch of relief. “Good. We’ll go in about half an hour. Beverley doesn’t really need you now.”

“And the children will be going to school next term?”

“Oh, so you knew about that.” Mrs. Woods looked flustered. “Well, nothing is really settled, and for goodness’ sake don’t mention it to Miss Pollard. I don’t want her to look for another job yet.”

Ann stared with wide eyes and the other went on uneasily, “Now don’t
you
begin to get unsettled. We don’t want
you
to go.”

Ann wondered why not. She couldn’t see that either Mrs. Woods or Beverley would want her here when the children had gone away.

“Now hurry up and get ready,” Mrs. Woods said now. “I’m quite looking forward to getting you that dress.”

Ann found that she felt quite excited about it too. Something new for a change.

Unfortunately, just as she was coming out of her room, the children, despite a strict rule that forbade them to come along this corridor, arrived, anxious to take her to see the newly arrived kittens to which Mrs. Smuts, the black cat which was Burrows’ pet, had given birth during the night

“Burrows says we can keep one of them and have it in the house if you say it’s all right,” Guy told her.

“I’m sorry, darlings, but I can’t come now. I’m going out with Nana.”

Guy might have accepted this, but Emma was immediately interested. “Why?” she queried. “You don’t usually go out with Nana. When we asked her why you didn’t go with her or come with Mummy and us in Uncle Iain’s car, she said you were here as a nurse — to Mummy and to us — and not just for enjoying yourself.”

Ann’s look of eager anticipation faded slightly. She hoped that this was merely Emma’s way of being unpleasant because her own plans had been thwarted. But her remark sounded like a true echo of Mrs. Woods.

She said crisply, “Go back to Miss Pollard now, and we’ll all go to look at the kittens this afternoon.”

Again Guy was ready to obey, but Emma was more awkward. “I want to go with you and Nana,” she decided regally. “I haven’t got my best coat on, but I ’spect you won’t wait for us to get dressed again.”

“We certainly shall not,” Ann replied emphatically. “Off you go.”

Usually her orders were obeyed more or less promptly, but this morning Emma obviously had a chip on her shoulder.

“I want to go too,” she wailed, and went swooping downstairs in Ann’s wake. Mrs. Woods was waiting in the hall and her face took on an expression of impatience. “Really, Ann, we can’t take the children, trailing in and out of dress shops.”

Ann reflected that “Nana” was as prone to exaggeration as her granddaughter. There were certainly not all that number of dress shops in Sunbury; certainly not out of season.

“They are going to look for Miss Pollard,” she explained clearly, and with a nod of dismissal turned away from them.

The resulting scene was wearing to everybody, and not least to Ann, who had been priding herself that the children’s behavior had much improved since she herself had taken charge of them. This was certainly a lapse — and a bad one.

Mrs. Woods’ remarks were cutting in the extreme about the abilities of two mature young women to control two tiny children before Averil Pollard managed to shepherd them away and Ann was able to climb into the car.

However, Mrs. Woods soon turned a smiling face on her companion and it was not in Ann’s nature to harbor resentment. After all, the children had been tiresome, and she and Miss Pollard were in charge of them. In addition, her excitement about having a new dress hadn’t been dimmed by the fracas — merely forgotten for a few minutes.

To her disappointment, Mrs. Woods led the way into a cheap, flashy sort of shop where a girl came forward, called rather stridently by the manageress.

“We want a dance dress for this young lady — some thing in blue,” said Mrs. Woods imperiously.

Ann looked around her wildly. No, no,
no,
she thought. I’d rather
die
than wear a dress from this shop.

The girl did her best, but there was nothing very much in blue that she could display. “Not a fashionable color this year, madam,” and Mrs. Woods swept out.

“We’ll have to go to Irene’s,” she grumbled, and then, as if suddenly recollecting herself: “I’d heard such good reports of that last shop, darling. I thought we ought to
try.
However, we may find something not too expensive at Irene’s.”

Ann began to feel uncomfortable. When people were giving you a present, they shouldn’t talk about expense; they should leave that to you.

Irene’s window was dressed simply with an artistically draped coat and skirt, a frothy scarf and a pair of gloves. Ann sighed. She was afraid that everything here would be far too expensive.

This time Mrs. Woods knew better than to ask for “something blue.” She knew the smart, elderly woman who came forward and she introduced Ann nonchalantly.

“This is my second daughter, Anne, Mrs. Ford, who insisted on going to train as a nurse.” She gave an artificial shudder. “Such
noble
work, but I couldn’t
bear
it!”

Mrs. Ford said smoothly, “A good thing we’re not all cut out in the same model, Mrs. Woods. So
boring
... in people as in dresses.” She gave Ann a singularly sweet smile.

Mrs. Woods went on in a voice that sounded very artificial to Ann, “We want a dress for her to wear at Matron’s Ball ... nothing elaborate ... Anne has so few opportunities for wearing anything expensive. In hospital, you go in for a lot of these matey ‘hops,’ don’t you, darling, wearing cotton frocks, or separates.”

Neither Ann nor Mrs. Ford commented on that, and a moment or two later the saleswoman was displaying first a dress in many shades of lilac, then a slim model in black, and another in dark turquoise.

Mrs. Woods touched the black one absently. “Something like this would be useful,” she murmured, and then with a wary look, “But I expect this is terribly expensive.”

Mrs. Ford smiled and moved the dress out of the other’s reach. “No,” she said decidedly. “It’s just that little bit too simple, and not really suitable. Black for anyone as young and pretty as Miss Anne! No, I think not. This turquoise is more suitable. Perhaps Miss Anne would like to try that...”

“Miss Anne!” It was curiously old-fashioned and apparently not quite in character, for Ann saw Mrs. Woods glance up sharply. They went into the pale grey and yellow fitting-room, and a few moments later Ann was staring at herself in the mirror. Yes, the dress fitted her and the color suited her. She probably wouldn’t find anything so good.

Mrs. Woods asked, “How much is it?” and closed her lips tightly when she heard the price. Yet for what it was in the way of cut and material, it wasn’t at all expensive. Quite reasonable, in fact. Odd how her store of “knowhow” and experience hadn’t vanished too, when she had lost her memory of people and events, Ann thought wonderingly.

She looked at the two women. “It is very nice, and if it isn’t too expensive...” Now her lavender grey eyes were entirely on her so-called mother.

“Well, we won’t decide immediately. What else can you show us, Mrs. Ford? The child doesn’t need to wear anything too expensive. She has youth and good looks, and they will carry any dress.”

“You think so!” Mrs. Ford’s voice was slightly astringent, and Ann began to wish herself back in the cheap, flashy shop.

The proprietress and the saleswoman went away again, and Mrs. Woods, seeing Ann’s expression, patted her arm hastily. “It’s all right, darling. I’m quite willing to pay that amount, but that Ford woman makes exorbitant profits, and if I can beat her down I’m going to do so. Ah, she’s coming back.”

This time Mrs. Ford was carrying a white dress. She held it against her own slim figure and Ann gave a little sigh. It was so very unsuitable for a girl who, except for once in a way, could hope to go only to hospital “hops” but it was so very lovely. Ann knew, even before wearing it, that it was her dress, hers just as if it had been specially designed for her.

Mrs. Woods had protested, but somehow the other woman had put the full skirt expertly over Ann’s dark head, and now she was smiling as she made the final adjustment of the cunningly twisted off-the shoulder satin bands. The dress was of nylon with a beautifully fitted bodice, and a flowing skirt, patterned with a heavier motif of roses.

“This is Miss Anne’s dress,” said Mrs. Ford simply, and here spoke the artist — the woman who really loved clothes — rather than the saleswoman.

Ann was staring at herself raptly. She had forgotten the other three. She was imagining herself walking down the stairs at Fountains with Iain at the foot, waiting to greet her.

She came back to reality. A ridiculous dream! And seeing her in a pretty and expensive dress wouldn’t change his feeling for her. Of course not. And this dress must be expensive — fabulously so.

She said, turning to the others, “It’s lovely, but of course...” She hesitated and Mrs. Woods filled in what she had not yet said: “Very pretty, but most unsuitable for you. And I imagine the cost is quite prohibitive. Yes, I thought so. We’ll decide on the turquoise, I think, Mrs. Ford.”

Ann nodded and took one last look at the vision of something that might have been, then turned away, standing patiently while the saleswoman and Mrs. Ford removed the dress. The turquoise one was pretty and she was ungrateful to feel so uninterested in it, but there it was.

They left the dress behind as it required some minor alterations. Mrs. Ford had already sent for shoes, white satin ones which were to be dyed to match. As to the bill ... apparently Mrs. Woods had an account.

“Thank goodness that’s settled,” Mrs. Woods remarked, sighing with relief, as they emerged from the shop. “Will you go back by bus, Ann? I have some other business in town and there’s no point in your waiting around for me.”

Ann went slowly towards the bus station. She was still thinking about the white dress, and did not see Ralph Gateworth till he stepped directly in front of her.

“Hullo, beautiful! You look as if you’re in dreamland as usual.”

Ann stared at him distrustfully. “I thought you had left.”

“Not yet, angel,” he grinned. “I’m working out my notice and I’ve got a few scores to settle before I go.”

Ann refused to allow herself to become frightened by his threatening tone. “I don’t expect to stay here much longer myself,” she remarked airily. “The children will soon be going to school and I shall be bored with nothing to do.”

“What about the old brain-box?” he queried sarcastically. “Any sign of your memory coming back?”

“Not at the moment,” she replied, and tried to walk round him. But he sidestepped and continued to stare down at her. “A pity you and I couldn’t have come to terms,” he said, almost regretfully. “We could have had fun. But you’ve got other ideas, haven’t you? The Director is your pin-up boy. A pity!”

Ann made no reply to that, though color flamed into her face. Did everybody in Sunbury and district know that she’d made a fool of herself by falling in love with Iain Sherrarde? She wondered wretchedly.

When she moved forward once more, Gateworth did not try to keep her and she hurried along, anxious to board the bus before he changed his mind. How that other Anne — Mrs. Woods’ real daughter — could have fallen in love with him was a question she would never be able to answer.

The bus started to move and she allowed herself to drift into a reverie about the lovely white frock, tantalizing her imagination with what Iain Sherrarde would have said had he seen her wearing it.

The days to Matron’s Ball seemed to flash away. Beverley’s dress had come, an ornate pink satin lavish with seed pearls. She tried it on again and again, preening herself for hours before the mirrors in her room, never tired of admiring herself. She didn’t seem to mind that Iain Sherrarde’s car had not lately stood waiting to take her for rides to the coast.

“I expect he’s away” she said carelessly. “Mummy said she had seen him in Sunbury, but that was several days ago. He flies to America quite a lot, you know. The Institute is working in close conjunction with a similar place over there.”

But if Iain wasn’t in attendance, Robert Leedon was — every day, and sometimes more than once. Beverley often invited him into her room where she was usually trying on her pink dress.

“Wouldn’t you rather have kept it as a surprise?” Ann asked her curiously.

Beverley shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to Lee what I wear. It’s all the same to him.”

Ann began a conventional protest, but the other silenced her, as she went on, “You see, he’s in love with me — really in love, poor sweet, and has been for eighteen years.”

Eighteen years ... when Beverley was sixteen!

Beverley made her kittenish face. “You ought to know, Sister Anne. After all, he was once your brother-in-law.”

“Brother-in-law?” breathed Ann uncomprehendingly. And then she stopped. Not
her
brother-in-law, of course, but that other Anne’s. Beverley and Robert Leedon had once been married! He was one of the two other husbands about whom the Derharts and Sherrarde had gasped in horror when they had found out about Raymond Derhart’s intention to marry.