her inside as Mr van Manfeld rose from his seat by the fire to greet her. She hadn’t quite expected that, and although he didn’t smile at least his face wore a look of polite welcome. She stared at the dark glasses and wondered what colour the eyes they concealed would be, then, rather belatedly, wished him a good after noon. ‘I’ve brought another cake, a chocolate one, and an apple pie—I was making one for us and it seemed silly not to…’
She stopped because it was a stupid sort of speech anyway, but someone had to say something. Jan had nodded at her and disappeared through a door leading presumably to the kitchen, and Mr van Manfeld took so long to say anything that she had to quell a desire to put her basket on the table and go away again.
‘I didn’t think that you would come,’ said her host at length. ‘Why did you?’
‘Well, you asked me, and I said I would—and besides, I thought you might be glad of another cake.’
He smiled then and his whole face changed. ‘I have a vile temper,’ he informed her, ‘and I have allowed it to get out of hand—I hope you will forgive me for my rudeness.’
Cassandra, ever practical, was taking off her anorak and went to hang it behind the door. ‘Yes, of course, and you’re not as rude as all that. The village…’
‘Discuss me? Naturally. But I came here to get away from people. Will you sit down?’
She took the chair opposite his and tried not to stare at the glasses; instead she picked up a small ginger kitten sitting before the fire, and put it on her lap. ‘You said you were going home soon—so I suppose you came here to convalesce or wait for results.’
The eyebrows rose. ‘Is that a guess?’ and when she said yes, he went on:
‘I’m awaiting results. There is a good chance that my blindness isn’t permanent, what sight I have has already much improved, but I depend on my eyes for my work—I’m a surgeon.’ He added impatiently, ‘But I can’t expect you to understand.’
‘Yes, you can. I’m a nurse, you see, and I’ve just done six months in theatre and I’ve watched the surgeons at work. Is it an optic nerve injury?’
‘Yes. A paralysis which is slowly righting itself, I hope.’ He spoke curtly and without any wish to continue the subject, something which became apparent when he went on: ‘I asked you to come so that I might apologize to you. I was abominably rude and you were most forbearing. I should warn you that I frequently lose my temper.’
The silence after this frank statement became rather long. Cassandra sat, wondering if she was supposed to go, or was she to stay a little while, even have tea? She was on the point of making some remark about getting back when Jan came in from the kitchen. To her disappointment he was empty-handed; she had, after all, come quite a long way and at Mr van Manfeld’s request. Whatever better feeling had caused him to invite her had cooled. She got up and offered Jan the basket. ‘If you wouldn’t mind putting these in the kitchen,’ she asked, and he nodded without looking at her and put out a stringy arm upon which the hideous tattoo stood out sharply.
She was normally a composed girl, not given to impulsive actions, but now she put out her hand and touched his arm gently and said: ‘Jan, I’m so sorry about this—I wanted to tell you.’
Jan looked at her then; his eyes were black and she thought for a moment that he was very angry, but he wasn’t. He smiled and patted her hand and said: ‘Thank you, miss.’ He might have said more, but Mr van Manfeld gave a short mocking laugh.
‘Spare me a mawkish scene!’ he begged nastily. ‘And should you not be going back to your charges, Miss…?’
‘Darling,’ Cassandra told him crisply, ‘and don’t dare to be funny about it!’
‘I’m never funny,’ he assured her, ‘and if it is your inappropriate name to which you refer, I can think of nothing more unsuitable. There is nothing darling about you—you invade my privacy without so much as a by-your-leave, you subject me to your quite unnecessary sentiment, and you assure me that you are not pretty. I really think you should go.’ His voice was cool, faintly amused, and mocking.
Cassandra stared at the dark glasses. The mouth below them was pulled down into a half smile which was fast becoming a sneer—and he had smiled so nicely. She sighed. ‘I’m not surprised that the children call you an ogre,’ she informed him tartly, ‘because you are a most ill-mannered man, which is a pity, because I expect you’re quite nice really.’
The glasses glared. ‘Oh, go away!’ he snapped, and got up from his chair. He looked very large and almost menacing. ‘God’s teeth,’ he ground out savagely, ‘what have…’
Cassandra’s firm chin went up in the air. ‘What a shocking remark to make!’ but he didn’t allow her to finish.
‘Don’t be so prissy,’ he advised her sourly, ‘I’m no mealy-mouthed parson.’
She allowed herself a moment’s comparison of Mr Campbell and the man before her and was surprised to find that Mr Campbell came off second best. ‘I’m sure he’s a very good man and kind.’
‘Meaning that I’m not? As though I care a damn what you think, my pious Miss Darling—going to church in your best hat and probably making the reverend’s heart flutter to boot. You sound just his sort.’
‘I’m not anyone’s sort, Mr van Manfeld.’ She picked up her empty basket and went to the door, her voice coming loud and rather wobbly. ‘It’s a good thing you can’t see me, because I’m extremely angry.’
His voice followed her, still sour. ‘But I can see you after a fashion. It’s true you’re dark blue and very fuzzy round the edges, but since you assure me that you’re a plain girl, I don’t really see that it matters, do you?’
Cassandra ground her teeth without answering this piece of rudeness and banged the door regrettably hard as she went out.
There was a note the next day, presumably delivered by hand while she had been out. It was typed and signed rather crookedly with the initials B. van M. It begged her pardon and asked her to go to the cottage and stay for tea. She read it several times, then tore it up. There was another note the following day; it was waiting for her when she got back from church with the children, and she tore that one up too and hurried to get their dinner because, having run out of excuses, she had accepted Miss Campbell’s invitation to tea that afternoon, and she was to take Andrew and Penny with her. She had, she told herself firmly, no intention of going anywhere near the ogre ever again. She found the idea distressing.
Tea at the Manse was run on strictly conventional lines. Everyone sat round the drawing-room eating slippery sandwiches and crumbling cake from plates which weren’t quite big enough. The children, coaxed into exemplary behaviour, sat like two small statues, making despairing efforts to catch the crumbs before they reached the floor, and Cassandra, seated with her hostess on a remarkably hard sofa, watched them with sympathy. It was a relief when the clock struck five and she was able to say that they should be going home before the dusk descended. ‘And anyway,’ she went on politely, ‘you will want to get ready for church, I expect.’
She had no ready reply when her host, despite the speaking look his sister gave him, professed himself ready to accompany them to their door.
‘There’s no need,’ cried Cassandra, who even if he hadn’t, had seen the look and didn’t want his
