came in just as they were sitting down in the panelled dining-room across the hall. He helped her to a portion of one of Mrs Brown’s excellent steak and kidney pies with the observation that it was a treat to see her and how had she got home, anyway?
‘One of the orthopaedic consultants was going to Bath for the weekend; he offered me a lift. He’ll pick me up on Sunday evening, Father.’
‘One of your beaux?’ Mr Brown wanted to know. It was a long-standing joke in the family that she was choosy and would end up an old maid. No one believed it, but just lately Claribel had had moments of anxiety that the right man wasn’t going to turn up and the joke wouldn’t be a joke any longer.
She laughed because he expected that she would. ‘Oh, not likely, Father,’ she said brightly. ‘He’s a consultant; they live on a higher plane than any one else. Besides, we don’t get on very well.’
‘No? The more decent of him to give you a lift. I look forward to meeting him.’
She consoled herself with the thought that the meeting would be brief. She even forgot Mr van Borsele for quite long periods at the weekend—there seemed so much to occupy her: gardening, driving her mother into Salisbury to shop on Saturday morning, taking the dog for a walk, and going back to the vicarage after church on Sunday because the vicar’s eldest son was home on leave from some far-flung spot. They had grown up together, more or less, and she thought of him as another brother; it was mid-afternoon before he walked her back to her home and, naturally enough, stayed for tea. Claribel just had time to fling her things into her bag and make sure that the cats were safely in the kitchen ready to be scooped into their basket before Mr van Borsele arrived.
She had expected that he would spend an obligatory five minutes talking polite nothings to her father and mother, settle her and the cats in the car with dispatch, and drive away to his evening date. She might have known it; he was a man who did what he liked when he liked, and it seemed that he liked to stay an hour, drinking her mother’s excellent coffee and discussing international law with her father. She sat quietly, handing coffee cups when called upon, feeling vaguely sorry for whoever it was he was taking out that evening. A girl, of course; and if I were that girl, reflected Claribel, I wouldn’t go out with him; I’d have a headache or go to bed or something—or find someone else to have supper with.
She glanced up and found his dark eyes resting thoughtfully on her so that she felt as guilty as though she had spoken her thoughts out loud. He smiled suddenly and she smiled back before she could stop herself.
He got to his feet. ‘We should be going.’ He made his goodbyes with a grave courtesy which she could see impressed her parents and then ushered her out to the car. Toots and Enoch were handed in, final goodbyes were said and he drove away.
‘You’re going to be late for your evening out,’ said Claribel as they left Tisbury behind.
‘I think not. It’s half past seven; we can be back soon after nine o’clock; my date is for ten o’clock. The road should be pretty clear at this time of the evening.’ He added, ‘I imagine you don’t want to be too late back.’
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