The Antique Dealer’s Daughter. Lorna Gray
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just now – it wasn’t purely because I can appreciate your wish to protect your father. At least not fully. It’s because I can’t bear to feel indebted for something I won’t ever repay, not even when it’s the person’s job. If I’d told the policeman about all this, he’d have been obliged to take steps for my safety and fuss and worry and then I’d have to admit this was more serious than I want it to be. I’d never be able to get things onto a normal track.’
This time when he spoke, it was in a very odd voice. ‘You really do mean that, don’t you?’
‘Probably,’ I replied. I shook it all away with a decisive little squaring of my shoulders. I had my hands clasped about my knees now. I turned my head over my shoulder to look up at him. ‘And,’ I added with a wry grin and an easier slide into truthfulness, ‘I’ve unexpectedly explained my motives far better to you than I ever managed for my parents, so if I still haven’t managed to explain myself coherently I’m afraid you’ll just have to make up the rest for yourself.’
‘I understand you.’ The confirmation was given in a manner that suited the sudden shift in mine, but there was something in his steadiness that told me I’d revealed more about myself in those last few lines than all our past words together. His expression wasn’t really betraying any of the reactions I might have expected, but I thought I’d suddenly crossed over from the girl he couldn’t comprehend into the woman he understood only too well.
Then he straightened from his lean against the wall. His manner was suddenly decisive. I saw his glance at his watch. He was about to go and suddenly I didn’t like it at all. I didn’t want to be left alone with the worry about deciding between keeping watch from behind a locked front door or making a dash through quiet lanes for the shop where I might telephone for a car to carry me down to Gloucester. And, of course, I knew I would never be able to escape the one real worry, which was that I was destined now to spend the rest of the day re-running what I’d just laid bare to this man, and finding far too many reasons to feel ashamed.
The Captain was asking me crisply, ‘What do you plan to do now since you can’t stay here? Will you catch a train home?’
‘Go home? No.’ My initial surprise and then the twist of amusement that formed my negative made my cheeks burn. I thought that had given away rather too much of my feelings too. I always had felt that I’d never been particularly hard to read. This was proof of it.
‘Well then, Emily, this is going to sound more than a little ridiculous after all but turning you out of the house earlier, but actually I’d like your help. And don’t look at me like that. It’s true.’ There was a brief hint of a reassuring smile. ‘Have you eaten, by the way?’
My mood lifted to match his. ‘I have. I took the remaining two eggs for my lunch.’
‘Good. Well, my proposal is this: Tomorrow I have to go into Gloucester for a meeting and I thought you might like to come along and call in at the hospital to see your cousin. From what I know of hospital stays, I imagine she’d appreciate the sight of a friendly face. That’s the bribe. The fee is that today, after all I’ve said about refusing to play my brother’s part here, it just so happens that I’ve committed myself to acting out the role of the squire’s son to the extent of running my father’s errands. Today that involves making contact with various people who by virtue of being either staff or tenant or both are deemed the Manor’s responsibility. I’ve spent an hour already speaking to all the people who could be reached by telephone. Now I’ve got to go and see the next person on the list and I’d be very glad if you would come with me. Don’t ask me why because I think I’d better not say. Let’s just allow that, amongst other reasons, I’ve been made aware through an intensive run of correspondence in recent months that some of our tenants possess a certain habit for tying people up with little chores and although I hope I’m not susceptible, I really haven’t got the time to find out I’m wrong. Will you come? Please? We can add your fee to the account. Otherwise, you can cut your losses on your trip here and I’ll drive you now to meet the next London train …’
There was something bewildering about the frankness of his offer. It was like he really was hoping I would choose to go with him. It made it easier to do what I wanted, somehow.
And in making that choice, it was with a lighter feeling than I might have expected that I belatedly went to pay the visit to Eddington that Mrs Abbey had briefly been determined to get me to make late last night.
‘Were you Blitzed, Emily?’
The question came out of a companionable silence. I turned my head from the scene arcing away beyond the glass in the passenger window to the driver beside me. In the main, experience had taught me that when a person wondered if someone was ‘Blitzed’, they were meaning that this person had lately taken to acting irrationally, hysterically and excessively sensitively. The term was only ever applied to excitable females, usually out of their hearing and more often than not accompanied by a discussion of their emotional state that would end with a condescending variation of ‘never mind her. She was Blitzed, poor dear’
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