A Mistletoe Kiss (21 page)

Apparently nothing loth, the professor began to tell her of the Spain he had once known. He spoke of vineyards laden with purple grapes, of citrus groves flaunting their golden globes in the hot sunshine, and of the poverty-ridden peasants, labouring ceaselessly in those same vineyards and citrus groves. But despite
what seemed like idyllic conditions, the landowners had refused to pay their workers a living wage and in desperation the peasants had risen up, starting the bloody conflict which became the Civil War.

‘How dreadful,' Miss Preece breathed, stopping outside her house. ‘Of course I knew there had been injustice … but, Professor, you will be in great danger if you go to Spain now.'

The professor nodded. ‘I shall behave with extreme caution, I assure you,' he said calmly. ‘I know the country well, and have many friends there … but I see we've arrived at your home.' He held out a hand. ‘Goodbye, Miss Preece. I hope we may meet again, and continue our talk when I return from Spain.'

Miss Preece took his hand and was about to thank him for his company when something occurred to her. Normally, she would not dream of asking anyone she did not know well into the house, because usually her mother would be present, gimlet-eyed and inquisitive. But this was the one day of the year when she could invite anyone she knew with impunity. Old Mrs Preece was in Llandudno, playing whist, the house was always neat and tidy, she had baked scones the day before and knew there was fresh milk in the pantry and a slab of butter beneath the wire cover on the slate shelf. But what would her mother say if she discovered that her daughter had invited a strange man to share a cup of tea and a chat?

The professor was turning away. It was not as though he were a young man, or a handsome one, Miss Preece reminded herself; he was not old enough to be her
father, but he was probably ten years her senior, and anyway, why should she worry? Her mother need never know that she had entertained such an eminent person in their home; my home, Miss Preece reminded herself emphatically, as she put a detaining hand on the professor's arm, hurrying into speech. ‘Professor Galera, I wonder if you would like to continue our discussion over a cup of tea? It just so happens …'

When Hetty and old Mrs Preece arrived at the house on Everton Terrace and let themselves in, there was no sign of Miss Preece. But she must have heard the front door opening, or possibly their voices, though they had done their best to speak quietly, for whilst Hetty was filling the kettle at the sink and old Mrs Preece fetched milk and sugar for a cup of tea they heard footsteps descending the stair.

The kitchen door opened and Hetty swung round, ready to say she was sorry for their late return, and relieved that thanks to her mysterious helper she had no need to apologise for missing the coach. She was beginning to say she hoped they had not woken her friend when she stopped short, blinking with surprise. ‘Oh, Miss Preece, I hardly recognised you, with that marvellous hair-do,' she gasped. ‘It's incredible how – how different you look. But you never said you were thinking of having it cut; I'm sure you never breathed a word.'

Miss Preece's hand went up to her hair as though she was as surprised as Hetty to find it cut short. But she only said: ‘I'm glad you like it, my dear. After your coach left, I found myself at a loose end. I can't think, now, why I went into the hairdressing salon, but as
soon as he saw me the hairdresser took it for granted that I was a … well, a customer, I suppose you could say. He asked me how I wanted my hair cut; I just stared … then I said I'd leave it to him, and this is the result.'

Hetty opened her mouth to tell Miss Preece again how the new style suited her, but was forestalled by the old lady. ‘Ridiculous! Trying to pass yourself off as a flapper, and you in your thirties,' she said peevishly. ‘No one would take you for a respectable businesswoman, which is what you are when all's said and done.'

Hetty saw a pink flush creep up the librarian's neck and invade her face, and felt really angry with old Mrs Preece. How could she say such a cruel thing? And it wasn't even true; Miss Preece might be – was – a respectable businesswoman, but that did not mean she had to be dowdy. Fortunately, however, Hetty realised in time that it was late, that Mrs Preece was tired, and had probably been startled at the change the new hairstyle had wrought. So she swallowed the blistering words of reproof which were on the tip of her tongue, and merely shook her head chidingly at the old lady. ‘Are you trying to say that your daughter's new hairstyle doesn't suit her?' she asked gently. ‘Because if so, your spectacles need changing! Why, she looks really pretty, as well as years younger.'

Mrs Preece sniffed, but had the grace to look a little ashamed. ‘I was taken aback,' she muttered. ‘Old folk don't like change, even when it's for the better.'

‘Then you do admit it's for the better?' Hetty said,
lighting the gas under the kettle and going over to the pantry to fetch the biscuits, for she knew Mrs Preece would not dream of drinking a cup of tea unaccompanied by her favourite ginger nuts.

When she returned, mother and daughter were seated at the kitchen table, both smiling now as Mrs Preece began to range her prizes along its surface. The older woman looked up and jerked her chin at her daughter. ‘Yes, I dare say it is better; she won't have to spend so long brushing it out and coiling it up,' she said. ‘It's got a grand shine to it as well; I like that. When I was young, Mr Preece used to say that my hair shone like polished jet.'

‘You must have been very alike,' Hetty observed, helping herself to a couple of ginger biscuits and slipping them into her pocket. ‘But having seen you safe home, Mrs Preece, I'd best be getting back to Aunt Phoebe.' She turned to the librarian. ‘Did you have a good day? I had a wonderful time; I'll tell you all about it when we next meet, but I really must be going now. I didn't realise I should be this late back. Of course I told Aunt Phoebe not to wait up, only knowing her I expect she'll do so anyway.'

‘I had a fantastic time,' Miss Preece said eagerly. ‘We'll exchange experiences when you come to the library on Monday. But I don't mean to let you walk through the dark streets alone. I'll just see my mother into bed and then I shall treat you to a taxi ride.'

‘You won't find a taxi on Everton Terrace at this time of night,' Hetty said. She looked at the kitchen clock and saw, to her surprise, that it was only a quarter
past ten. ‘Why don't you walk down to the main road with me if you're truly worried that someone might hit me over the head and carry me off to a ship bound for the Far East and the white slave trade.' She grinned at her friend. ‘Come to that, if you do come with me, we might both get hit over the head and carried off to the Far East.'

Miss Preece joined in her laughter. ‘I'll borrow Mother's spectacles and the old cloche hat she wears when it's raining,' she said gaily. ‘Oh, Hetty Gilbert, you do me a power of good!'

Hetty was beginning to reply that it worked both ways, that Miss Preece did her a power of good as well, when the old lady spoke up. ‘In my opinion, Hetty's changed our lives,' she said, sounding as surprised as she must have felt. ‘A few years ago you would never have joked and laughed the way you do now, Agatha, my dear.' She turned to Hetty. ‘I'm tired, but I've had a lovely day thanks to you.' She rose creakingly to her feet. ‘And now you sit down, drink your tea and eat a few biscuits whilst Agatha here helps me out of my dress and corset.'

Miss Preece smiled at Hetty. ‘Can you wait?' she asked. ‘I really won't be more than five minutes.'

Hetty assured her that she would wait and Miss Preece was as good as her word, so it was less than ten minutes later that the two of them left the house and set off down the road in the direction of Salisbury Street. They emerged on to Netherfield Road and, without consultation, slowed their steps and glanced at one another. ‘You first,' Hetty said encouragingly.
‘My day was longer than I anticipated, so it will take longer to tell. And something happened which … but I won't jump the gun. Go on, Miss Preece; how was your day? Pretty good, I imagine.'

Miss Preece took a deep breath. ‘I'll tell it like a story, from the very beginning, and I know you'll be interested because I met someone we know, or rather someone I thought we knew, only I was wrong.'

She told the story well and clearly and when she spoke of Professor Galera's brother, who was so like him, and said that she thought he was the man who had collided with her outside the library, Hetty whistled softly beneath her breath. When she admitted to inviting the professor into her home, Hetty clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh. ‘You
were
daring,' she said admiringly. ‘Is that why you used make-up? Your colouring is so dramatic that you scarcely need it, but I thought I could see traces of rouge on your lips.'

Miss Preece's hands flew to her cheeks. ‘No, of course it wasn't,' she said. ‘I did put on a very little lipstick before I left the house after breakfast, though, thinking it would give me courage to face the day ahead. I suppose that was why I had my hair cut as well, and it certainly worked. I've always been shy, reluctant to stand out in any company, but today I didn't hesitate to ask questions and join in discussions. By the time the professor had to leave – he had a dinner engagement with colleagues at the Adelphi – I felt I'd known him for years.'

‘And when are you going to see him again?' Hetty
asked innocently, and smiled as the colour flooded her friend's face once more. ‘Oh, go on, Miss Preece, don't expect me to believe that he singled you out and accompanied you home just because you know a lot about illuminated manuscripts. He liked you, and wanted to get to know you better. It's as plain as the nose on your face – or rather on his face, from what I remember.'

‘Hetty Gilbert, you are awful,' Miss Preece said, but she was laughing. ‘I'm sure his interest in me was purely as someone with similar interests to his own. Anyway, since he's off to Spain in less than a week, he could scarcely try to make an arrangement to meet.' She looked quickly at Hetty, then down at her feet, one so normal and the other in its hefty, built-up boot. ‘Though to tell you the truth, he did tell me he would write, possibly from Spain, but certainly when he reached England once more.'

Hetty gave a little crow of triumph. ‘I knew it, I knew it! It's about time you realised that you're very attractive, Miss Preece. Why, with your hair cut in that new style, and …'

‘And that reminds me, Hetty,' Miss Preece cut in, her colour heightening once again. ‘Isn't it about time you dropped “Miss Preece” and started calling me Agatha? I know you're a good deal younger than me, but we've known each other for a couple of years now, and I think of you as my friend.'

‘It's awfully nice of you to suggest it, but when you're helping me with my schoolwork you're a sort of teacher, and when I'm working in the library, you're my boss,' Hetty said rather shyly. If she had to own
the truth, she would have to admit she was embarrassed by the mere suggestion that she might use Miss Preece's first name. However, it would never do to say so. ‘If we could get round that …'

‘We can, of course,' Miss Preece said briskly. ‘I'll be Agatha when we're alone and Miss Preece when others are present. Would that suit you?'

‘Yes, that would be ideal,' Hetty said gratefully. ‘And now, Miss Pr— I mean Agatha, I'll tell you what happened to me, which was as strange, in its way, as what happened to you. And I don't mean it was strange that the professor took to you, but that it seems quite likely we met his brother years ago, when you and he were heading in the same direction but still managed to collide with one another.'

‘I did not collide with him; he collided with me,' Miss Preece said with dignity. ‘I disliked him from the first moment I set eyes on him, which is odd when you consider how very charming I found his brother. I know Susannah – and the professor himself – said how very alike they are, but I assure you, Hetty, that the likeness can only be superficial. The professor has a gentle expression, full of humour and interest in those around him. His wretched brother was clearly only interested in himself. I doubt whether I registered with him; probably he'd not recognise me if we met tomorrow, face to face. But I'm sorry, I interrupted; you were about to tell me …'

The story of Hetty's day in Llandudno was soon told, but the mistake over the coach, her subsequent despair and her rescue by the ‘motorbike man' had
Miss Preece assuring her that beside Hetty's, her own adventure paled into insignificance.

‘Surely you have some idea who your rescuer was?' she asked, after Hetty had described her wild, moonlit ride. ‘You seemed to think it was someone who knew you well. Tell me again who it might have been.'

‘I've thought and thought, but the only conclusion I've reached is that it could have been almost anyone who worked the Leeds and Liverpool Canal,' Hetty said. ‘If I'm going to start with my first possible guess, it would have to be Jez, who was my best friend from the time I was about four until his father and mother took over a narrow boat on the Grand Union Canal. He used to help Gramps with Guinness, our horse; we became really good pals, but we've not met for years. He's at least two years older than me, which would make him about the right age for the man on the motorbike.'

‘Jez,' Miss Preece said thoughtfully, clearly committing the name to memory. ‘That's an odd sort of name, isn't it? I don't believe I've ever heard it before.'

Hetty laughed. ‘It's short for Jeremy,' she explained. ‘Canal folk are like Liverpudlians; they shorten or nickname everyone.'

‘I should know; at school they called me Aggie, which I hated,' Miss Preece – Agatha, Hetty reminded herself – said ruefully. ‘And I've heard some older customers refer to the library as the Evvie … Next name please!'