‘Oh—Sarah!’ This as a plum-cheeked girl straightened from setting a tray of tea on the low table in front of the fireplace. ‘Will you collect Miss Hoyt’s luggage from her car, and put it up in her room? And tell Mrs Carr we’ll probably want dinner a little later than usual. Say—about eight o’clock.’
‘Yes, Miss Manning.’
The girl gave Shelley a swift assessing look as she left the room. She was evidently curious about her employer’s new house guest, and Marsha pulled a rueful face when Shelley arched her brows enquiringly.
‘Don’t mind Sarah,’ she said, as soon as the door had closed behind her. She helped Shelley off with her thigh-length jacket and folded it over the back of a chair. ‘If you intend to dress as a fashion model here, you’ll have to get used to people staring.’ She smiled to allay Shelley’s protests. ‘Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you. Even if it could have been in happier circumstances!’
‘I’m fine—really,’ said Shelley, sinking down gratefully into the soft cushions of a chintz-covered armchair. ‘Mmm, you’ve no idea how good it is to relax at last! I seem to have been travelling for days!’
‘It must have been infuriating, losing the fanbelt so close to your destination,’ agreed Marsha, sympathising. ‘Who gave you a lift?’
‘Oh—just a man,’ said Shelley dismissively, annoyed with herself for re-opening the topic. For some ridiculous reason, she was loath to discuss that particular episode at the moment, probably because Ben Seton had already occupied far too much of her time. ‘What a comfortable room this is, Marsha,’ she added, changing the subject. ‘And what a clever idea—filling the fireplace with flowers!’
Marsha was diverted, and seating herself opposite, beside the tea tray, she became absorbed with the cups. ‘Milk and sugar?’ she asked. ‘Or would you prefer something stronger?’
‘If I have something stronger, I’ll probably fall asleep,’ confessed Shelley lightly. ‘Honestly, tea is just what I need.’
‘Good.’ Marsha filled two cups and after offering Shelley a hot, buttered scone, she lay back in her chair and regarded her friend with evident satisfaction. ‘You’re here at last,’ she said, her grey eyes warm with affection. ‘And not before time. Shelley, why didn’t you tell me what was going on?’
Shelley sighed, nibbling the half scone she had accepted without any real appetite. ‘There was nothing to tell,’ she answered flatly. ‘It was just an accumulation of circumstances, and Mike’s wife dying like that, seemed to bring them all to a head.’
Marsha shook her head. ‘I thought you were in love with him.’
‘So did I.’ Shelley lifted her slim shoulders. ‘But I wasn’t.’
Marsha shook her head. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘A few pounds.’ Shelley was offhand. ‘I could afford it. I spend too much of my life sitting down.’
‘Nevertheless …’ Marsha finished her tea and propped her elbows on her knees. ‘The—specialist you saw would not have ordered you to take a complete rest if he hadn’t considered you needed it.’
‘The shrink, you mean?’ prompted Shelley drily. ‘Don’t be afraid to say it, Marsha. I guess I got myself into quite a state, one way and another. And having Guy Livingstone on my back hasn’t helped. He can’t wait to step into my shoes.’
‘Mice on a treadmill!’ Marsha sighed. ‘Shelley, don’t you sometimes wonder if you were really cut out to be a career woman! I mean—don’t get me wrong—but there is another life, outside your profession.’
‘That! From you!’ Shelley put the remains of her scone aside and looked at her friend incredulously. ‘You’re not exactly a walking recommendation of the eternal wife and mother!’
‘I know, I know.’ Marsha was not offended. ‘But just because my marriage to Tom didn’t work out, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the institution when it does.’ She shrugged. ‘I suppose, living around here, has given me a different outlook on life. Oh—I’m not saying that if Tom and I were still together, things would be any different. But he did give me Dickon, and I’m eternally grateful for that.’
‘You don’t have to get married to have a baby,’ pointed out Shelley wryly. Then, smiling, she added: ‘How is Dickon anyway? I’m looking forward to meeting him again.’
‘And he’s keen to meet you,’ declared Marsha eagerly. ‘Do you remember when we all went to that exhibition of mine at the Shultz Gallery? He talked about you for days afterwards. I think he had quite a crush on you!’
Shelley laughed. It was the first time she had really relaxed for months, and it was so good to anticipate the weeks ahead, with nothing more arduous to occupy her mind than how she was going to fill her days.
‘He’s engaged now,’ Marsha continued reflectively, her thoughts evidently still with her son. ‘She’s a nice girl. Her name is Jennifer Chater. She’s the daughter of one of his partners in the practice.’
‘The veterinary practice,’ said Shelley nodding. ‘When will he be home?’
‘Oh, Dickon doesn’t live here,’ said Marsha quickly. ‘In winter, we often get snowed in, and he has to be available for calls. He bought a house in Low Burton, just after he joined Langley and Chater.’
‘Low Burton,’ echoed Shelley faintly, wondering if she would ever hear the name without thinking of Ben Seton. ‘And—will he and Jennifer live there, after they’re married?’
‘Initially, perhaps,’ agreed Marsha doubtfully. ‘But it’s not very big. Not big enough for a family,’ she added, her eyes twinkling. ‘I can’t wait to become a grandmother! But I don’t suppose I have any choice.’
‘Are they getting married soon?’ asked Shelley, willing to talk about anything that would not remind her of the young man in the Land-Rover, and Marsha shrugged.
‘Provisionally the date is set for sometime in October,’ she replied. ‘But it really depends on Jennifer’s father. He hasn’t been at all well lately, and consequently Dickon thinks they ought to wait and see what happens.’
‘I see.’ Shelley sighed. ‘Is he coming over this evening?’
‘He was, but now he’s not.’ Marsha sounded regretful, but Shelley couldn’t deny a sudden feeling of relief. Although she didn’t feel nearly as exhausted now as she had earlier, she was glad there was only to be the two of them for dinner. ‘As a matter of fact, he rang, just before you arrived,’ Marsha added. ‘I thought it might be you, but of course, it wasn’t. He had intended to join us for dinner, but something’s come up. He said to give you his regards, and that he’ll probably see us tomorrow.’
In spite of being tired, Shelley did not sleep as well as she had expected. She and Marsha had enjoyed a leisurely dinner, served by Marsha’s housekeeper, Mrs Carr, and then adjourned to the living room to continue their conversation over a nightcap. The brandy, plus the half bottle of wine she had consumed, should have assured her of a decent night’s rest, but once her head touched the pillow, Shelley’s brain sprang into action. No matter how determinedly she endeavoured to relax, the events of the day persistently disturbed her rest, and the absence of any sounds but the
