Love or Duty (3 page)

‘And the agent was there as well – the one who said he might give you a recording contract?’

‘Yes. He’s going to come and see Father and arrange it all with him in a couple of weeks.’

‘I’m so pleased for you, Sarah.’ Louise squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘Think how proud I’ll be when you’re a famous singer.’

Sarah still seemed rather subdued. ‘Mother’s not proud – I think she’s jealous.’

‘Nonsense, of course she’s proud of you. And why should she be jealous?’

‘She wanted to be a famous pianist, didn’t she? And ended up playing for the cinema and then at the Winter Gardens.’ Sarah went on to explain how Dora had tried to persuade the producer of the radio programme to let her play the piano for her. ‘She was in a real huff when they said she couldn’t do it.’

Louise told her sister not to be so silly. But she suspected there was a grain of truth in what she’d said. Dora loved to be the centre of attention, whether it was in an admiring circle of church ladies or at home with her husband and family. Perhaps she’d seen the radio broadcast as a chance to resurrect her own musical career.

They strode along in silence and Louise was glad that the strong wind made it hard to walk and talk at the same time. She was so angry with her stepmother, but it wouldn’t do to let Sarah know how she felt. Louise remembered when she was little and how desperate she’d been to win Dora’s approval. But, despite her efforts to please, the older woman had steadily undermined her confidence, making her feel clumsy and useless. Now she was doing the same thing to her own daughter. Fortunately Sarah had inherited her mother’s determination – but, Louise hoped, not Dora’s selfishness.

When they reached the bandstand, deserted at this time of year, the girls mounted the steps and stopped in its shelter to get their breath back.

‘I suppose we’d better start back. Mother will be cross if we’re late for tea,’ Louise said.

Sarah kicked a stray pebble over the sea wall. ‘I feel a bit flat now it’s all over. Do you really think I’ll be able to make a career out of singing?’

Louise hugged her. ‘No doubt about it. You’ll go far.’ She frowned. ‘I wish I had your talent. You’ll soon be off to conquer the world and I’ll be stuck here in dreary old Holton.’

‘Poor old Lou. It doesn’t have to be like that, you know.’ Sarah laughed. ‘When I’m rich and famous you can be my personal secretary, how about that?’

‘Sounds like fun. One day, maybe….’ Louise turned to face the sea, looking out at the sparkling wavelets, the ships dotted on the horizon. Much as she longed for an escape from her dull conventional life she did love living by the sea. And there was something comforting about living in a house built by her great-grandfather in a town where her family was known and respected. Yes, she would like to travel but she knew she’d always come back to her roots.

Sarah had walked on ahead and Louise ran to catch up with her.

When they got back to Steyne House, they discovered they had a visitor. The curate, Keith Willis, was in the drawing room, gravely listening to Stanley’s concerns about the state of the church roof and his plans for raising money for its repair.

Louise realized she was quite pleased to see him. She hadn’t many close friends and it was always a pleasure to have a conversation with someone outside her family. Besides, her stepmother was a different person in company.

When Keith stood up, a welcoming smile lighting up his rather ordinary features, Louise returned the smile and sat down beside him. But when she attempted to join in the conversation, Dora, who had come downstairs and was now lying on the couch in front of the fire, interrupted impatiently.

‘Leave it to the men, dear. They know about such things.’ She touched her cologne-soaked handkerchief to her forehead. ‘And now that you’re back from your walk, we can have tea. Ring for Polly – and, Sarah, make sure you wash your hands.’

‘It’s Polly’s afternoon off, Mother. I’ll see to it,’ Louise said, getting up hastily.

When she returned with the tray the curate jumped up to help and almost succeeded in spilling everything. With a nervous laugh he sat down and Louise put the things down on a side table.

As she passed his cup she thought what a nice shy young man Mr Willis was. She felt sorry for him, knowing how embarrassed he must have been by his display of clumsiness earlier. Hadn’t she suffered the same torments when, in her eagerness to please, she had knocked things over or spilled something? Dora had told her so many times how useless she was that she’d come to believe it. It was quite gratifying to meet someone who seemed to have the same problem – not like Andrew Tate who had made her feel even more nervous with his self-confident manner.

In an effort to put Keith at his ease, she devoted more attention to him than she would otherwise have done and she sensed Dora’s approval. She looked away from his intense gaze. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

She stood up and began to stack the used tea things on the trolley. As she pushed it along the wide passage towards the kitchen she wondered what being the wife of a vicar would be like. She pictured herself living in the vast gloomy vicarage, hosting meetings of the Mothers’ Union and the Young Wives’ Group, her whole life devoted to the service of others – not unlike her life now, she thought.

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking of? Dora would be pleased of course, but Louise dreamed of a different life, away from the little seaside town where she’d been born and brought up.

Besides, she was quite sure her liking for Keith Willis was nothing like the feelings her friend Peggy had for her fiancé, a dashing naval lieutenant who had swept her off her feet last summer. Surely there was someone like that for her somewhere in the world – if she ever got the chance to meet him. She refused to think about Andrew Tate, telling herself her feelings for him had been brought about by loneliness. Besides, if he had the slightest interest in her, he would surely have made some excuse to return to Holton before now.

With a little laugh at her foolish thoughts she returned to the drawing room in time to hear Mother’s horrified gasp.

‘A
missionary
. You can’t be serious, Mr Willis. But why on earth should you feel compelled to go to darkest Africa when we have such need of you here?’

‘I feel God is calling me to do this work, Mrs Charlton.’ Keith leaned forward earnestly, his eyes shining with fervour.

Behind her mother’s back, Sarah raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes dramatically. Louise couldn’t help smiling at her foolish thoughts of a moment ago. It seemed she had got it all wrong.

I
t wasn’t often that the Charltons entertained. Although Dora loved to dress up and show off, there were very few people in Holton Regis who lived up to her ideas of suitable guests. But since Sarah’s singing success she had grasped every opportunity to boast about her talented daughter. The dinner party had been planned ever since Sarah’s BBC broadcast.

How Louise wished the whole thing was over. Cookie had planned a delicious meal – lamb cooked to perfection with minted baby new potatoes and fresh peas and beans from the garden. The problem was Polly, who although usually cheerful and willing, was thrown into confusion at the thought of serving so many extra people using the best silver and china.

Louise was terrified that she’d spill soup in the vicar’s lap or drop the coffee tray. She tried to reassure the terrified maid and would have offered to help were she not aware what Dora’s reaction would be.

She desperately wanted this evening to be perfect for she had just heard that another guest was to join them.

‘Dr Tate has his nephew staying with him so I’ve invited him too,’ Dora announced. ‘It’s short notice but I’m sure Cook and Polly will manage. I could hardly say no, could I?’

‘It’s only one extra, Mother,’ Louise said.

‘Yes, but that girl gets in such a state. She can’t remember the simplest instruction. And Cook isn’t used to dealing with so many guests.’ She sighed impatiently.

Louise didn’t reply. It seemed that Dora was the one getting in a state. There would only be nine – ten with Andrew Tate.

Dora’s mood changed and she smiled. ‘Perhaps Sarah will sing for us afterwards.’ She shooed Louise away. ‘Well, run along then and tell Cook to do some extra potatoes. And Polly will have to re-lay the table.’

The dinner was going well and Louise was relieved that so far there had been no disasters at the table, for Polly’s sake as much as her stepmother’s.

She only half-listened as, next to her, Keith Willis told her that he was leaving for Africa very soon. She was more interested in the young doctor’s conversation with her father and wished she was at their end of the table.

At least Dora was in a good mood as she regaled William Spencer and her friend Mrs Howard with the tale of her visit to Broadcasting House with Sarah. As for her sister, she was in her element. She’d been allowed wine with her dinner and her violet eyes were sparkling. She was sitting next to James Spencer and Louise smiled as she saw that her sister was flirting and that James seemed to be responding to her.

She returned her attention to her father who was telling Andrew about the problems of the fishing families who lived in such poor conditions on the other side of town.

‘My uncle has spoken of it. We tend to think such problems are confined to the big cities,’ Andrew said.

‘Your uncle tells me you are trying to rectify that in your part of London,’ said Stanley.

‘We do what we can but it’s little enough. The clinic I run only scratches the surface. We can do little to combat the dirt and malnutrition.’

Louise was fascinated. She knew that Dr Tate’s nephew worked in a London clinic but she hadn’t realized he worked with the under-privileged in the East End. The knowledge increased her admiration for the young doctor.

Dora of course was horrified. ‘I do realize you have to get experience before you take over your own practice,’ she said. ‘But how do you bear it – the dirt, the disease….’ She shuddered delicately.

‘Dirt and disease are something doctors have to learn to cope with,’ he told her.

‘But surely it’s only a temporary measure,’ Dora insisted. ‘I thought you’d be taking over from your uncle eventually.’

‘I hope that won’t be for a long time yet,’ Andrew had said and changed the subject by complimenting Dora on the excellence of the meal.

They had finished dessert and Louise looked up to see Polly peeping
hesitantly
round the door. Her face was red and she looked as if she’d been crying.

Louise hastily left her seat and followed her along the passage to the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘Oh, miss, I dropped the milk jug,’ she wailed.

‘Is that all? Well, use a different jug,’ Louise told her.

‘But there’s no more milk left. What about the coffee?’

Louise went into the kitchen and surveyed the mess. Cook had found another jug and was re-laying the tray. ‘I don’t know why she had to bother you, miss,’ she said. ‘We’ve got cream left from dessert. That will do for the coffee.’

Louise smiled. ‘Thank you, Cookie. I’ll take it in.’ She turned to Polly, who had begun to pick up the pieces of broken china. ‘Don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault.’

As she picked up the tray, Polly let out a yelp and Louise gasped as blood gushed from the maid’s hand. She grabbed a cloth and pressed it to the wound, guiding her to a chair. ‘Sit here for a minute. I’ll take the coffee in,’ she said, picking up the tray and going through to the dining room.

Dora looked up in irritation. ‘It took you long enough,’ she said. ‘Where’s Polly?’

‘She’s had a little accident. Sarah, would you pour the coffee, please? I’ll go and see if she’s all right.’

‘Really, that girl. She’s impossible,’ Dora said. Her guests didn’t respond and she gave a little laugh. ‘She’s been with the family years you know, so….’ She gave a little shrug and another laugh.

Louise bit her lip, wanting to tell her stepmother they were lucky to have such a devoted servant who’d been like one of the family ever since she could remember. She hurried back to the kitchen, where she found Polly looking quite pale. The cloth was soaked through and the cut was still bleeding.

Cook had found a roll of bandage and some antiseptic and Louise gently removed the cloth. Polly became quite hysterical when she saw how deep the cut was. As Louise coaxed her to let her have a proper look, the door opened and Andrew Tate came in.

‘Can I help?’ he asked.

She smiled gratefully and moved out of the way. She watched as he deftly cleaned and bandaged the wound, speaking gently and calming Polly’s hysterics in moments. When he’d finished he said, ‘Now you must change the dressing every day, keep it dry and if it doesn’t start to heal in a few days come and see my uncle at the surgery.’

‘But, Doctor, how am I going to do my work all bandaged up like this?’ Polly said.

‘No work until it’s healed,’ he said firmly.

Polly glanced at Louise apprehensively. ‘Will that be all right, miss?’

‘We’ll manage for a few days,’ she said.

‘It may be more than a few days,’ Andrew told her. ‘We don’t want her getting an infection.’

‘Of course. Thank you, Doctor. Perhaps you’d like to return to the other guests. I’ll finish clearing up here.’

He nodded and left the room, leaving Louise feeling rather bewildered. Although she’d been monopolized by Keith Willis all evening, she had managed to hear some of Andrew’s conversation with her father and wished she could have joined in. The curate’s dissertation on his imminent
departure
for Africa had become rather boring and Polly’s accident had provided a welcome diversion.

When Andrew appeared in the kitchen she’d hoped for an opportunity to ask him more about his work. She admired the way he had dealt with Polly – efficient yet gentle and caring. How different he was from the
bumptious
Keith Willis and the shallow James Spencer.

But then, after making sure Polly was all right, he had left the kitchen abruptly and she’d had no chance to speak with him further. When the guests started to leave his thanks for the meal had been rather curt and Louise was left wondering what she – or her stepmother – had done to offend him. What could have caused such a change in his manner? she wondered.

Andrew had not been looking forward to an evening with the Charltons. His previous encounters with Dora Charlton had left him with a hearty dislike for her and when Uncle George had told him he was included in the invitation to Steyne House he had looked for an excuse not to go. It was only the possibility of seeing Louise again and getting to know her better that had persuaded him.

He had hoped to be seated next to her and was disappointed to find he’d been placed at the end of the table furthest away. Louise, sitting beside the curate, did not seem unhappy with the place settings. Every time he looked towards her end of the table she was smiling at something Keith Willis had said. Perhaps the rumours of a romance between the pair were true, he thought gloomily.

He cheered up somewhat when Stanley Charlton mentioned that the curate was leaving for a mission overseas very soon and began to enjoy the conversation with his host. It was a pleasure to discover that he and Louise’s father had so much in common – even to their choice of life partner, he thought wryly.

The break-up with Celia was still raw, and although he now realized they were totally incompatible, he was still saddened that she hadn’t turned out to be the person he thought she was. At the time, a newly qualified and idealistic young doctor, he had really thought Celia was his soulmate. She was from a medical family, the daughter of a consultant at the hospital where he had done his training and he had been convinced she would be the perfect wife. He had pictured their life together, dedicated to healing the sick and improving the lives of those less fortunate themselves. When he did not fall in with Celia’s plans for a Harley Street practice pandering to the whims of the rich, she had thrown him aside in favour of someone more easily manipulated.

Dora Charlton’s comments on his work had reminded him so much of Celia’s attitude. He had thought her stepdaughter was different.

As he and his uncle walked home through the quiet streets, George Tate commented on his silence. ‘You had plenty to say earlier,’ he said. ‘I thought you were having a good time.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. It was a good meal and I did enjoy talking to Stanley Charlton. I can’t say much for the rest of the family though or his other guests,’ Andrew said.

George gave a short laugh. ‘I know what you think of Mrs Charlton. I don’t know what Stanley was thinking of. Still they’ve two lovely
daughters
.’ He nudged his nephew playfully. ‘I thought you were interested in the older one.’

‘I don’t know what made you think that,’ Andrew said, but he felt himself flushing and was glad of the darkness. His uncle would never leave the subject alone if he thought … Andrew shook himself. No, Louise wasn’t for him, he thought as he replayed the scene in the kitchen.

He never went anywhere without his doctor’s bag and when he heard of Polly’s accident he had grabbed it and rushed into the kitchen. As he calmed the frightened woman and dressed the wound he couldn’t help being glad of the opportunity to speak to Louise alone.

It was when Polly had expressed concern at not being able to work that he had his first doubts. She had given that frightened glance as if
apprehensive
that her job might be in jeopardy. And Louise had said nothing to reassure her. He didn’t think she was like her stepmother, treating the servants as if they were inferior. But the maid had definitely been worried about something.