Dear Tiberius; (aka Nurse Nolan) (4 page)

Miranda was delighted w
hen the news was conveyed to her that Nurse Nolan was to remain with her. She wound her thin arms around Lucy
’
s neck as she bent over her the following day to loop a ribbon through the fair hair, and gave her quite a powerful hug.

“
It
’
s wonderful!
”
she declared.
“
And it
’
s still more wonderful that you
’
re going to wear ordinary clothes!
”

Lucy laughed.

“
Church-going clothes!
”
she elaborated.

“
Yes, church-going clothes!
”

“
But if that is the desire of your royal highness I shall have to go to London to pick up rather more of my wardrobe. I
’
ve only got a few things here that I can wear, and in any case
I
didn
’
t imagine I would be away so long, so I
’
ll have to leave you for a brief spell.
”

It was true that when she had obeyed the summons to go to Ketterings she had more or less
“
downed tools
”
and dropped everything, and she had certainly not imagined that the case would occupy so much of her time. She was provided with a room in her sister
’
s Chelsea apartment when she was not nursing, and that room housed practically all her possessions in this world.

Sir John, when he was given to understand that Nurse Nolan required leave of absence for a few days, gave permission readily. And then he took Lucy completely aback by announcing that he intended to visit his firm
’
s London office and offered to drive her to London himself in his own car—or rather, he invited her to accompany him in the backseat of the car while his chauffeur drove them!

At first Lucy was almost awed by the very thought of sharing the silver gray upholstered seat of the big Bentley for several hours with her employer, but that did not prevent her from feeling grateful for the invitation. And she accepted with a suitably demure expression that might, or might not, have deceived him.

Against all precedent. Sir John stayed at Ketterings until Thursday. When he and Lucy left, Miranda and Miss Fiske waved to them from the window of the room that had once been Miranda
’
s schoolroom, and that overlooked the driveway. And then, as they glided away through the subdued brilliance of a perfect September morning, Lucy lay back against the seat and decided that she might as well make the most of this unique experience.

They shot between the curly, wrought-iron gates that guarded the approach to the residence, and out into a winding country road bordered by high hedges alive, with rose hips, and the pink and orange flowers of the spindle tree. Beyond the hedges were brown fields where the newly turned earth was shimmering with gossamer, and beyond the fields the purple outline of the moor, with the white road cutting across it like a white ribbon unfolding itself until it reached the deeper purple distance, and the wavy line of hills.

Lucy, in her neat gray tailored suit and little hat that sat more insecurely on her brown curls than her cap ever did—the outfit that so aroused Miranda
’
s admiration on Sundays—was unaware that Sir John
’
s eyes rested on her in rather a speculative fashion, but she did know that in her heart she was deeply pleased to think that she was coming back to Ketterings, and that this departure did not mean farewell to it.

They stopped for lunch at a little hotel where the service was excellent and the food good, and Sir John ordered wine with the meal. Lucy was so charmed by the unchallengeable antiquity of the dining room, with its carefully chosen pieces of period furniture, and the view of a sleepy market town out of the window, that she was only partly attentive to Sir John
’
s conversation that, however, was of a purely conventional order and required no flights of imagination to follow it.

She rather gathered—or she had gathered when they were traveling side by side in the car—that he preferred long spells of silence, broken by a few observations occasionally concerning the scenery they passed through, to a bright and entertaining flow of chatter.

He set her down outside her sister
’
s block of apartments when they reached Chelsea, and she thanked him with real gratitude for the comfortable method in which she had been permitted to make a long journey. He rewarded her thanks with the faintest of smiles, told her that if she happened to be traveling back on the day when he himself returned to Ketterings he would be pleased to offer her transport again, provided her with a telephone number where she could contact a secretary, and then signaled to Jennings, his chauffeur, to drive on.

As Lucy watched the car move off—an impressive car even though it was now enclosed by other impressive cars making for the heart of London—she thought, with the faintest feeling of wonder, that Sir John, in whose company she had passed practically the whole of that day, would now lie back in his corner of his swift-running modern chariot and put her right out of his thoughts. If he had not done so already!

But at the back of her mind he lingered like something
she was not certain of—like something she even mistrusted a little!

Kathleen, her sister, h
ad just returned to the apartment after a shopping expedition, and she flung her arms around Lucy and hugged her as if she, at least, was really pleased to see her. She was a couple of years older than Lucy and was completely captivating, with something of Lucy
’
s own dark-haired, blue-eyed attractiveness and a great deal more of her own besides, a husband who was a barrister beginning to receive quite a lot of briefs, and her apartment, although small, was charming.

“
Well, darling, and how
’
s Tiberius?
”
she inquired, when they were having tea.
“
I
’
m surprised that he let you come away like this, especially if he wants you to return.
”

“
Tiberius?
”
Lucy wrinkled her brows.

“
Yes, your Sir John Ash! From the remarks you let drop about him in your letters he
’
s wallowing in money, but has quite a lot in common with that nasty Roman emperor. He orders the lives of everyone with whom he comes in contact, has no pity to waste on his invalid daughter, and no mercy, I should imagine, for anyone!
I
don
’
t know why I think of him as Tiberius, but I do.
”

Lucy turned the name over in her mind and decided that in a way it could fit. But was Sir John merciless? How would he react if anyone definitely tried to oppose him in any one thing that affected him closely?

“
But let
’
s not talk about him,
”
Kathleen continued, with a habit she had of sweeping from one subject to another.
“
I
’
m so glad you
’
ve arrived tonight, darling, because Clifford has tickets for the new show at the Colossus, and he was wondering what to do with the spare one. They were presented to him by a grateful client.
”
She grinned wickedly.
“
His clients are usually grateful, which is all to the good, isn
’
t it?
”

“
But don
’
t you think you
’
d rather be alone—just the two of you?
”
Lucy demurred, feeling rather too tired after her journey to view the prospect of an evening
’
s entertainment with unalloyed pleasure.
“
I
’
m sure you
’
d rather leave me behind.
”

“
Certainly not!
”
Kathleen declared firmly.
“
And after your prolonged period of incarceration in the benighted north
,
I
’
m quite sure that what you need is something to take you out of yourself, something to get you right away from your everlasting invalids!
”

“
A book and a good radio program—
”
Lucy was beginning. But Kathleen wouldn
’
t hear of it.

“
Nonsense! You
’
re coming with us.
”

“
But I haven
’
t got a really suitable dress. My clothes are practically at their last gasp, and that
’
s why tomorrow I
’
ll have to whip around and do some shopping—
”

“
Then I
’
ll lend you a dress! I
’
ve got a heavenly blue organza that was simply made to throw up the color of your eyes, and there
’
s an adorable sequin-studded stole to go with it that is absolutely the last word! Come with me to the bathroom now, and I
’
ll give you one of my new miracle face packs—not that there
’
s much wrong with your skin, but one can always improve matters. And I
’
ll set your hair, and after that you can linger for a full half hour in the bath, with a spoonful of my new French bath essence thrown in to take the weariness out of your limbs. Believe me, you won
’
t know yourself once I
’
ve finished with you!
”

Which was not by any means an empty boast, for by the time Lucy was dressed and standing in front of her mirror she could hardly believe that the vision that looked back at her was herself. The dress was ballerina length, and it displayed her slender ankles—in a pair of Kathleen
’
s sheer, cobwebby hose—to perfection. Her shoes were silver gilt sandals that felt like feathers on her feet.

When she gazed at her complexion she felt inclined to stroke it and pat it admiringly, for it reminded her of the smooth sides of a peach, lightly dusted with powder.

The thought crossed her mind that Miranda, if she saw her now, would almost certainly express the utmost ap
p
roval, and the thought made her smile rather tenderly. Dear little Miranda! Shut away in the lonely, lovely house of Ketterings. She must buy something amusing to take back to her, something that would make her laugh.

The evening was an entire success, although Lucy enjoyed the spectacle of the show rather than the subtleties of wit, and so forth, for she was in that state of mental relaxation when it was enough simply to lie back and allow her eyes to provide her with her entertainment.

During the interval she looked around her idly and then stiffened at the sight of a face she knew amongst a line of other faces in the expensive seats near to her. It was a man
’
s face, thin, with rather a dark skin, and slightly sardonic features. His noticeable chin looked more impressive than every by contrast with his white dress tie.

Kathleen, beside her, felt her stiffen, and whispered.
“
Anything wrong?
”

“
No.
”

“
That
’
s Lynette Harling over there, fifth along in the third row! You know, the ballerina. She
’
s resting now, owing to a strained ankle or something
....”

Lucy did not really need to count along the row, for the face of the exquisitely gowned young woman in the seat beside Sir John was almost as familiar to her as his was—she had come upon it so often in magazines and fashionable journals. There could be only one Lynette Harling, and there she was, with her head flung backward a little disdainfully as she, too, looked around her, and all the lights in the auditorium seemed to be concentrating their attention upon her brilliant red hair. She had dead white skin—it was almost startlingly white under the lights—and her eyes looked heavy and languid. Lucy had read somewhere that they were green as a cat
’
s.

Sir John turned his head and looked down
at her, and she smiled up at him, slowly, seductively. Lucy was amazed by the response in his face—it completely transformed it. The Sir John Ash she and Miranda knew was an entirely different person from the Sir John Ash who was spending the evening in the company of the famous dancer. Not only was his expression almost human, it was miraculously softened, with a look of sweetness around the usually harsh lips.

Kathleen, intrigued by her sister
’
s attentiveness, bent a keen look on Miss Harling
’
s escort, and then looked down again at Lucy
’
s face. Lucy looked as if she could hardly believe the evidence of her eyes.

“
Don
’
t tell me you know the man?
”
Kathleen whispered, scenting something unusual. Then all at once a ray of light seemed to pour over her.
“
My goodness!
”
She clapped a hand to her lips.
“
Don
’
t tell me—it isn
’
t—it can
’
t be—Tiberius...?
”