Midsummer Star. Бетти Нилс
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paused to look at her before strolling across the gravel towards her.
‘If you ring the bell, Barney will let you in,’ said Celine tartly, and added: ‘Good afternoon.’ She glanced down at him and saw that he was a large man, with wide shoulders and rugged good looks. His hair was fair going grey at the temples, and his eyes were very bright blue.
He looked up at her and smiled slowly. ‘Miss Celine Baylis, the daughter of the house,’ he observed placidly. ‘How do you do? I’m Oliver Seymour.’
Celine dipped her brush in the paint. It was a pity that she couldn’t quite reach the end of the drainpipe, but she went busily over a bit she’d already done till he reached up and took the brush from her. ‘If you’ll come down, I’ll just do that end bit for you.’
And she found herself doing just that, standing ungraciously while he finished her work, put the brush tidily in the jamjar on top of the steps and the lid on the paint. ‘Could we go into the house?’ he suggested gently, just as though she should have suggested that minutes earlier.
Worse than Nurse Stevens! she decided silently, marching him briskly towards the front door; he was going to be one of those infuriating people who took charge the moment they poked their noses into anything.
She flung the door wide. ‘Do come in,’ she said haughtily. ‘Mrs Seymour’s sitting with Mr Seymour—the nurse is taking some exercise, but I’ll find Nicky.’
His eyes searched her face. ‘Ah, yes, Nicky—of course.’
He had a pleasant voice, deep and rather slow, but something in its tone made her glance at him. He returned the look with a gentle smile.
Lazy, she thought, and a bit dim—knows everything better than anyone else but can’t be bothered. Why on earth is he here?
She left him in the sitting-room and went in search of Nicky, whom she found asleep in the drawing-room. The look of irritability on his face when she wakened him rather took her aback, but it was replaced so quickly by a charming smile that she imagined that she had fancied it.
‘Your cousin has just arrived,’ she told him, and was disconcerted to hear the deep voice just behind her.
‘Ah, Nick—a pity to have disturbed you. I’ll go straight up to Uncle James, if I may, and see the nurse later. Is Aunt Mary there too?’
Nicky had sat up, but not got off the sofa. He stared up at the big man, leaning against a chair with his hands in his pockets. ‘As far as I know,’ he said ungraciously. ‘It’s all such a nuisance…’ He caught Celine’s surprised look and went on smoothly: ‘It’s been a terrible shock.’
‘I can see that,’ said his cousin, his voice very even. He turned on his heel and Celine perforce followed him out of the room; she would rather have stayed with Nick, but someone had to show this tiresome man where his uncle was.
Half way up the stairs he asked: ‘I see you do bed and breakfast. Have you a bed for me?’
She said stiffly: ‘There is a room, yes. Have you come far?’
‘Edinburgh.’
Celine opened the bedroom door and went quietly into the room and Mrs Seymour looked up from where she was sitting by the bed. The delight and relief on her face as her nephew crossed the room towards her was obvious.
‘Oliver—oh, now everything will be all right! He’s been asking for you. Dr Grady is coming later this afternoon, you will be able to talk to him.’ She smiled at Celine, standing quietly by the door. ‘I don’t know what we would have done if it hadn’t been for this dear child.’
‘There’s a nurse?’
‘Yes, she’s out walking.’ Mrs Seymour pulled a face. ‘Very serious and severe and rather a trial to the household, I should imagine.’ She smiled from a pale face. ‘Perhaps you could use some of your charm?’
‘It doesn’t always work,’ he observed, and glanced at Celine as he spoke.
She ignored the look. ‘I’ll bring you a tray of tea up here,’ she offered, and whisked away, down the stairs, for some reason feeling peevish.
She later took tea, tiny sandwiches and the fruit cake Angela had just baked, upstairs and arranged the tray on a table near the window before going to find her mother and father in the study. They looked up as she went in and her mother said: ‘I heard a car, darling—but we can’t take anyone, I suppose?’
‘It’s the nephew, Oliver Seymour. He wants to spend the night, I’ll get the small room across the landing ready for him. I’d better go to the kitchen and tell Angela there’ll be one more for dinner this evening.’
Mrs Baylis’s eyes brightened. ‘Really, darling, one wouldn’t want to be unkind, but we’re making money, aren’t we?’
‘On paper, yes. I don’t suppose Mrs Seymour will think of the bill at the moment.’
‘No, of course not, but Nicky might. Are we getting low in ready cash?’
‘We’re OK for a bit, darling. Would you make one of your salads for dinner this evening? I’ll get a couple of lettuces and some radishes, and there’ll be a few spring onions…I’ll get some apples from the loft, too.’
The Colonel looked up from his book. ‘What are we eating tonight?’
‘Lamb chops, and I’ll make a syllabub.’
‘You look very untidy,’ observed her father, but she didn’t have to answer him, for he was once more deep in his book.
Her mother cast an eye over her. ‘Yes, love, you do. I’ll see about tea and you go and change.’ She added: ‘Is he nice?’
‘OK, but I’ll get the radishes first. I’ve no idea, I hardly spoke to him.’
Celine went out of the side door into the kitchen garden, her trug on her arm, and filled it with things for the salad; she was grubbing up the last of the radishes when slow firm feet trod the path behind her.
‘Very soothing,’ declared the deep lazy voice, ‘gently pottering in the garden—good for the nerves too. Why isn’t Nick helping you?’
Celine straightened her back. ‘I didn’t ask him to,’ she said politely.
‘Did he need, to be asked?’ His voice held a friendly mockery that annoyed here.
‘He is on holiday,’ she pointed out sharply.
He didn’t answer that but went on placidly: ‘You must have been put to a great deal of trouble with my uncle ill in the house, as well as losing—er—custom. I’m sure my aunt hasn’t remembered to pay the bill—will you let me have it and we’ll settle up?’
Celine arranged the radishes in a neat row, not looking at him. ‘You’re leaving—all of you? I didn’t think Mr Seymour…’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he sounded avuncular, ‘of course we aren’t leaving, but we’re preventing you from having a house full, and the least we can do is pay our way.’ He took a radish from the trug and ate it. ‘Do you do the accounts as well?’
‘No, my father sees to that.’ She started back towards the house. ‘I’ve one or two jobs to do…’
He let her go without protest. ‘Of course. Do you mind if I look round the garden until Dr Grady gets here?’
‘Of course not.’
Celine had to admit, as she helped Angela in the kitchen and then went to lay the table, that he was considerate and kind. But Nick didn’t like him; she wondered why. And where was Nicky anyway? They had hardly seen each other all day. As if in answer to her thought he came into the dining-room and threw an arm round her shoulders. ‘Beautiful girl, isn’t it about time you spared a thought for me? I might have known that once Oliver got here he’d spoil everything.’