That Tender Feeling (11 page)

‘Honestly, all this fuss,' she mocked. ‘I'm a careful driver. Anyway, you couldn't go for me. As well as getting something I've forgotten, I want to make a phone call. There's someone I'd like to wish a happy Christmas to.'

‘Oh! Sorry if I'm being obtuse.'

His stiff tone told her that he thought she wanted to slip out by herself to phone Jarvis. Perhaps he thought that was the whole object of her going and that the other, wanting to get something before the shops closed, was a trumped-up excuse. Actually, it was Miles she had a notion to ring. But she didn't want company, certainly not
his
company while she chose
his
present, so it was better to let him think what he did. Besides which, she was wallowing in a thought that was almost too delicious to believe, and if she did believe it, then it seemed to her advantage to keep the pot boiling on that one for a while longer.

‘You're jealous!' she accused with taunting sweetness.

‘What an absurd thing to say,' he scoffed. The dash of anger in his eyes coupled with the searing dryness of his tone told her that she was not far off the mark.

He left the kitchen in a huff, and she was already sorry for drawing him out. With regret, she had to watch him go. She would have gone after him if time hadn't been at a premium. As it was, she pulled on her boots and shrugged her arms into her coat.

It had started to snow again. She hadn't been driving long before she realized that it had been a mistake to venture out on any errand, no matter how pressing, on such a day. At first, the fall of snow was moderate, but it increased from a pretty spectacle into a venomous attack. She gripped the steering wheel and leaned forward, her eyes aching from the effort of trying to penetrate a swirling cloud of whiteness. The wind whipped the flakes onto the windshield faster than the wipers could whisk them off.

It crossed her mind to wonder why she didn't turn back, why she was so dedicated to going on. The thought of phoning Miles had triggered something off in her brain. The last time she'd phoned him, on her arrival, he had told her that Cliff had been working with her father and that he was home on sick leave and intended to look her up. Miles had attempted to tell her something about Cliff, but the static on the line had been so bad that every time he had tried, his voice had been drowned out. It now seemed imperative for her to know what Miles had said. It just might be something that would help her to understand Cliff's strange manner. The foreboding that had been with her the previous night was back again. She wasn't going to find any peace until she knew what it was all about. If Miles could tell her anything, anything at all . . .

The car began to slide out of her control. Her first immediate impulse was to step on the brakes, but she managed to temper that reaction. She remembered in time that that was the last thing she must do if she wanted to keep out of trouble. She bit hard on her lip, willing herself not to panic, and somehow found the strength of mind to do all the right things to get the car out of the spin. Despite the terror that was sweeping through her, she managed to keep the upper hand on both herself and the car and reached Gillybeck without further mishap.

The moment she got out of the car, the immediate danger over, she wondered what she'd gotten into a state about. It wasn't like her. She'd driven in snow before; in one instance she'd been caught in a blizzard that had been far worse than this and had not been flustered. At the same time, she was not foolhardy and knew that she'd better not waste time in doing what she had to do in case conditions worsened.

She couldn't find anything even remotely suitable to give Cliff as a present, but that was now no longer the main issue. Phoning Miles was.

She stepped into the telephone box, searched her purse for the necessary coins and dialed his number with the feeling of one who is going to the scaffold.

The monotonous brr-brrr, brr-brrr of the dial tone seemed to go on endlessly. She thought he must be out and was on the point of replacing the receiver when he answered. Miraculously, in those appalling conditions, his voice came strongly down a line that was clear of interference.

‘Miles, it's me, Ros.'

‘Ros! How marvelous. Happy Christmas.'

‘Happy Christmas, Miles. I hope it's the best ever.' And I hope you take this stone from my heart. ‘When I phoned last time, do you remember telling me about the man who was working with my father, the one who'd come home on sick leave who said he'd look me up if he got the chance?'

‘Yes.'

‘You tried to tell me something about him, but the line was so bad I couldn't make out what. Do you remember what it was?'

‘Too well, I do. It's not something easily forgotten.'

The gravity of his tone struck fresh fear into Ros's heart.

‘Wh-what was it?'

‘While he was out there, he contracted an incurable illness.'

‘Incurable?'

‘Poor devil, he's come home to die. Your father said for me to be sure to tell you that there's no call for you to worry.'

‘You've just told me he's going to die. And you say that!'

The note of hysteria in her voice received a concerned ‘Are you all right, Ros?'

‘Yes—yes, I'm all right.'

‘Your father meant it in the sense that it's nothing you could catch. You know your trouble, don't you?'

‘No, you tell me.'

‘You've got too much feeling. You can't take everyone's grief on your shoulders. They aren't broad enough. So it's sad for the poor guy. But these things happen. Feel sympathy for him, by all means—it's tough luck to be cut down in the prime of life—but don't make it into a personal burden.'

‘Does he . . . know?'

‘Yes. I'm wishing you didn't. I had misgivings about passing on that part of the message, but I respected your father's wish that you should know. I think he thought it would give you more understanding, make you think kindlier toward him. I don't suppose a man who's under the sentence of death feels like a bundle of fun.'

‘No . . . I don't suppose so.'

‘I didn't know you'd take it this bad.'

‘How do you know how I'm taking it?'

‘By your voice, what else? It's got a brittle quality that I don't like.'

‘I'll be all right. You've just winded me, that's all. It's so dreadful . . . so . . .' She beat the panel where the coins were inserted with her free hand in a useless gesture of hitting back. Poor Cliff. How must he have felt when he found out? How must he be feeling now? ‘I must go, Miles. It's snowing pretty heavily, and I've got to get back to the cottage. Good-bye. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.'

Even in the crippling numbness of her despair, her brain was shrieking at her that she had to get back to Cliff. She couldn't bear it if she was snowed up there, away from him. She hadn't asked Miles if he knew how long Cliff had. She almost dialed his number again, then decided that she didn't want to know. She would spare herself that. The realization that their time together was limited was the worst blow that life had inflicted upon her. Losing her mother had been bad, but she had been cushioned by her youth. She had been too young to understand the finality of death.

‘I don't suppose a man who's under the sentence of death feels like a bundle of fun,' Miles had said. But Cliff had been a bundle of fun. His braveness astounded her. The fun they'd had snowballing one another that morning highlighted what attitude he'd decided to take. However much or little time that was left to him, he was going to enjoy it, and somehow she must follow that lead.

As she stumbled back to her car, she didn't feel the stabbing bite of the snow on her face, so much stronger was the pain that engulfed her heart as more memories tumbled into her awareness, his consideration for her being paramount. She understood his strange attitude toward her, the way he'd rushed her to begin with as if there wasn't a moment to lose, as indeed there wasn't. Then it was as if he'd stood back and taken stock, asked himself what that would do to her afterward. She'd let him know so plainly that before their relationship advanced another step, she wanted a more secure commitment, something lasting and binding. And all he could commit himself to was the moment. Oh, dear heaven, because now she remembered practically her last words to him on the subject. ‘You aren't going to be a devastating thirty-two-year-old forever. Time could be running out for you.' She must have hurt him bitterly, and all he could think about was not hurting her. He'd told her so. ‘You little fool, I'm trying my best not to hurt you,' he'd said.

Ros couldn't remember anything of the return journey. She went through the motions like an automaton, only realizing she was back at Holly Cottage when it occurred to her that the engine of the car wasn't throbbing anymore.

The door of the cottage was wrenched open, and Cliff's tall figure came looming toward her, the terrifying Heathcliff of childhood memory. He jerked the car door open and half dragged, half lifted her out. ‘Are you all right? I should never have let you go off on your own in this. I didn't realize how bad it was. Why the hell didn't you turn back, you idiot child? I've been out of my mind with worry.'

His tone verged on anger, but she knew it was because of his concern for her, and that gave the pain in her heart another twist. He could think of her at a time like this, in spite of all he was going through.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, ‘I didn't mean to bark at you. It's just that . . .' He didn't attempt to qualify that remark but said instead, ‘You don't need to look so stricken now. The nightmare's over. You're home.'

It was strange, nice, to be fussed over and cosseted, even though there was as much temper in his actions as tenderness; his reaction under the circumstances, she supposed. But she should be cosseting him, she thought as his arm came supportively round her and he marched her into the cottage.

He helped her out of her coat and flung it over a chair with none of the fastidious care that was second nature to her when dealing with her clothes. The flakes of snow it had collected on its short journey from the car to the cottage began to melt and make puddles on the floor. If there was any wetness on her face, she hoped he would think it was the snow melting on her lashes and not the tears biting under her lids. He sat her down on the other kitchen chair, kneeling at her feet to remove her boots, which received the same rough treatment as her coat and were thrown into a corner. Even though it felt wrong for him to look after her, she knew it was right. Until she got herself together, it was better for him to think that she was trembling and in a state of shock because of the snowy conditions she had been caught up in, that she had felt terrified and unable to cope. She had to blame her lack of composure on something, and that excuse was as good as any and better than most. Whatever the temptation, she must not let on that she knew about him. She knew instinctively that he wouldn't want to share it with her but would rather she ignored it.

She felt chilled to the bone, as if she would never be warm again, but with her chair drawn up to the fire in the living room, her fingers clasped round the hot toddy that Cliff had prepared for her, standing over her and insisting that she drink it, she began to give an outward appearance of having thawed out.

He disappeared for a while, and when he returned, he said: ‘I've put a hot water bottle in your bed. An early night wouldn't come amiss.'

She rose with the obedience of a child. ‘You're right. I do feel rather exhausted. I'll go to bed.' She sent him a look of appeal. ‘Don't I get a good-night kiss?'

He dropped one on the end of her nose, propelled her round and administered a slight push that directed her feet toward the stairs.

She went through the familiar routine of undressing, washing her face and cleaning her teeth, putting on her nightgown and brushing her hair. She heard Cliff come up the stairs. She caught her breath as his step hesitated outside her door and released it in a rush as she heard him move along the passage to his own room.

She covered her face with her hands. Cliff, oh, Cliff,
darling
. How could something as horrible as this happen to you? You don't deserve it. Or if it did have to happen, why couldn't we have met up again sooner?

The thought of his going out of her life, having only just come back into it, filled her heart with an unbearable sadness. The brave face he was putting on shamed her. She had always thought that she would be able to bear whatever misfortune life inflicted upon her with courage and dignity. But she hadn't envisaged anything like this. It was too cruel. Why did people—nations—waste time warring and quarreling? Didn't anyone realize how comparatively short the normal life-span was—and when that life-span was cut even shorter—

She was gulping back tears. His every look, his every mannerism, would be stamped indelibly on her brain, but she wouldn't have Cliff. Never to see that smile on his mouth again. She had hated its mocking arrogance; so many times she had wished it were within her power to erase it. Yet suddenly it seemed—this was crazy—endearing. And how many times had her fingertips cringed into the palms of her hands at the way his eyes glanced over her, taunting her, desiring her?

How could she profess to have a heart filled with compassion for him and not sate that desire? Was she going to wait until it was too late? She raised her eyes slowly. Looking at her determined face in the mirror, she knew that the answer forming in her mind was the right one. She would have to be very casual, even joking, in her approach. He wouldn't make the move toward her—he was too honorable—so she would have to go to him. She wished she looked more attractive for him. She should be wearing fragile lace adorned with tiny silk rosebuds and lovers' knots, not practical brushed nylon. But she had never gone in for that kind of nonsensical nightwear. She frowned at her reflection; then a tremulous smile fluttered across her mouth. She wouldn't go to him in brushed nylon! She twirled the offending garment over her head and tossed it aside; then her feet were creeping along the passage to Cliff's room.