Judith

‘Oh, has he got one?’

‘Lord, yes, and a nice old Black labrador as well. They’re in the garden, I expect, but they will roam in presently, I daresay—they have the run of the house.’

‘I should have thought that having dogs would have been too much of a distraction for Professor Cresswell—he spends a great deal of time writing, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, but he takes them out early in the morning before starting work—I believe they sit with him while he’s actually at his desk, so they can’t bother him much.’ He smiled at her. ‘How do you like this part of the country?’

The Professor’s cousin had turned aside to speak to a young woman and presently joined them again, this time with his arm round the girl’s shoulders. ‘You have met?’ he wanted to know. ‘Eileen Hunt, an old friend of the family.’ He laughed. ‘One might say, almost, very nearly one of the Cresswell family.’

The girl laughed too, and Judith smiled politely and wondered if they were on the point of getting engaged. She glanced down at the girl’s left hand: there was a wedding ring but nothing else. Eileen caught her eye and smiled with a hint of malice. ‘I’m not going to marry this wretch—he’s got one wife already. You’re not married, Judith?’

The malice was still there. ‘No,’ said Judith carefully. ‘There always seems to be so many other things to do—I daresay I’ll get round to it one day.’

It was a relief when Mrs Turner opened the door and, accompanied by the two dogs, marched across the room to where the Professor stood talking to a small group of people. Dinner, it appeared was ready.

The dining room, on the other side of the hall, was every bit as pleasant as the sitting room. Judith, sitting between the vet and a rather prosy elderly man who had little to say for himself, glanced round the big oval table. Eileen was sitting beside her host, leaning towards him with a laughing face and what Judith could only describe as a proprietorial air. Was that what the cousin had meant? Was the Professor going to take a wife? Judith felt the vague dislike she had had for the girl turn to something much stronger, which considering she didn’t like Charles Cresswell one little bit seemed strange.

The prosy man, having delivered himself of a lengthy speech about local weather, applied himself to his soup, and Judith did the same. It was excellent, as was the salmon which followed it and the saddle of lamb which the Professor carved with precise speed. The prosy man seemed disinclined for conversation; she and the vet carried on a comfortable, desultory chat which took them through the delicious trifle and a glass of the Muscat which had followed the white Bordeaux and the claret, before the ladies rose from the table and trooped back into the sitting room.

‘Very old-fashioned,’ commented the vet’s wife, ‘but Charles is too old to change his ways, I suppose. Besides, I rather like it, don’t you?’ She tucked a friendly hand into Judith’s arm and strolled to the still open doors. ‘Nice, isn’t it? Such quiet, and a heavenly view. We only get a chance to come here about twice a year, you know. Most of the time Charles shuts himself up and writes and the rest of the time he’s travelling around looking for bits of mediaeval history. Your uncle tells me you’re a nurse. That must be interesting.’

‘Yes, it is, but I don’t think I’ll be able to bear London after this.’

‘You live there?’

‘I work there, my parents live in Lacock—that’s in Wiltshire. It’s lovely there too.’

Some of the older women joined them then, and the talk became general until the men came in and her uncle came over. ‘Enjoying yourself, my dear?’ he wanted to know. ‘The headache’s gone? Do you mind very much if we leave within the next few minutes? I’ve explained to Charles that I might get a call from the Lindsays later on this evening.’

He turned away to speak to one of the other men and Judith, finding herself with the prosy man again, listened with outward politeness and an inner peevishness to a lengthy diatribe against the local government. She would be glad to leave, she decided silently; she had no interest in Charles Cresswell or his house, or his friends. It crossed her mind at the same time that he hadn’t any interest in her either. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since his brief greeting; he had invited her out of politeness because Uncle Tom wouldn’t have come without her, but he made no attempt to hide his dislike. And she disliked him too—heartily.

‘A delightful evening,’ she told her host as she and her uncle left a little later, and gave him a smile as insincere as her words. She was greatly put out at his laugh.

‘Was it, Judith?’ His voice was bland. ‘Such a pity that you have to go back to London so soon. You’ve had very little time to get to know us—you’ll forget us, I’m sure.’

She said nothing to this but stood silently while Uncle Tom and his host arranged a date for a day’s climbing. She would be gone by then, of course, but she doubted very much if she would have been included in Charles Cresswell’s invitation.

They drove the short way back in silence and when she had seen to the small bedtime chores and left a thermos of hot coffee ready in case her uncle was called out during the night, she went up to bed. The evening hadn’t been a success—but then, she argued with herself, she hadn’t expected it to be. All the same, she was filled with disappointment that she couldn’t account for. And she didn’t like Eileen; she hoped she wouldn’t have to meet her again, although that wasn’t very likely. The girl lived in Windermere and she would take great care not to go there.

She went the very next day, much against her will. One of her uncle’s patients, an elderly lady of an irascible nature, had driven over from Bowness to consult him. Her car was a vintage Austin and she drove badly. She had reversed into the doctor’s stone wall and shaken up the old car’s innards so badly that she had been forced to leave it at the village garage and then, considering herself very ill used, had demanded some kind of transport to take her home. It was a pity that Judith should go through the hall while she was making her needs known in no uncertain manner to Uncle Tom who, in what Judith considered to be a cowardly fashion, instantly suggested that his niece would be only too glad…

So Judith had ferried Mrs Grant back home, a pleasant house nearer Windermere than Bowness, and would have made her escape at once, only Mrs Grant remembered an important letter which simply had to go from the main post office in Windermere and would Judith be so kind…

She found the post office, posted the letter and remembered that she hadn’t had her coffee, so she left the car parked and went to look for a café. There were any number, and she chose the Hideaway, largely because of its name, and the first person she saw as she went inside was Eileen Hunt.

It was impossible to pretend that she hadn’t seen her, and when Eileen beckoned her over to share her table she went over, wishing she’d chosen any café but that one. But Eileen seemed pleased to see her. ‘Such a pity you had to go early yesterday,’ she observed with apparent friendliness, ‘but I daresay you find our little dinner parties rather dull after London.’

‘I don’t go out a great deal—at least not to dinner parties. I found this one very pleasant.’ Judith ordered her coffee and changed the subject. ‘What a lovely morning.’

Eileen sipped coffee. ‘Yes. I expect you go out a good deal with the doctors in the hospital, don’t you?’

‘Occasionally,’ said Judith coolly.

‘How romantic,’ said Eileen, and flicked a quick glance at Judith. ‘I daresay you’ll marry one of them.’

Judith thought very briefly of Nigel. Her mother had forwarded two letters from him and she hadn’t answered either of them; she went faintly pink with guilt and Eileen smiled. ‘Wouldn’t it be thrilling if he came all this way just to see you?’

‘Very thrilling,’ said Judith, refusing to be drawn. She finished her coffee. ‘I must go—I hadn’t intended coming out this morning and I’ve a mass of things to do.’ She smiled a polite goodbye, got to her feet and turned round, straight into Professor Cresswell. He sidestepped to avoid her and with a quick good morning, she went past him and out of the café. So much for those learned hours at his desk, brooding over the twelfth century! It rankled that he had found her visit to the house so disturbing—squawking like a hen, she remembered with fury—and yet he could spend the morning with that giggling idiot of an Eileen. Well, he’d got what he deserved, she told herself as she drove back to Hawkshead, and it was no business of hers, anyway. And in three days’ time she would be going home.

On her last day, with Mrs Lockyer safely back in the kitchen, Judith took herself off to Coniston. She had promised herself that she would climb the Old Man of Coniston, and although it was well past lunchtime by the time she got there there were several paths which would take her to the top without the need to hurry too much. She parked the car in the village and started off. She enjoyed walking, even uphill, and she was quite her old self again by now, making an easy job of the climb, and once at the top, perched on a giant boulder to admire the enormous view. It was warm now and presently she curled up and closed her eyes. It would be nice to be at home again, she thought sleepily, and there was still a week before going back to hospital—which reminded her of Nigel. She dozed off, frowning.

She slept for half an hour or more and woke with the sun warm on her face. She didn’t open her eyes at once, but lay there, frowning again. Nigel was bad enough when she was awake, but to dream of him too was more than enough. She sighed and opened her eyes slowly, and looked straight at Charles Cresswell, sitting on another boulder a foot or two away.

‘Why were you frowning?’ he wanted to know.

Judith sat up. Denim slacks and a T-shirt did nothing to detract from her beauty, nor did her tousled hair and her shiny face, warm from the sun still. She said crossly: ‘How did you get here?’

‘I walked.’ He whistled softly and the Border terrier and the labrador appeared silently to sit beside him. ‘The dogs like it here.’

Judith tugged at her T-shirt with a disarming unselfconsciousness. ‘I must be getting back.’ She got to her feet. ‘Goodbye, Professor Cresswell.’

‘Retreat, Judith?’ His voice was smooth.

‘Certainly not—I said I’d be back to give a hand at evening surgery.’

‘You leave tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’ She started to walk past him and he put out a hand and caught her gently by the arm.

‘There’s plenty of time. I should like to know what you think of Hawkshead—of Cumbria—what you’ve seen of it?’

She tried to free her arm and was quite unable to do so. ‘It’s very beautiful. This is my third visit here, you know—I’m not a complete stranger to the Lakes…’

‘You wouldn’t like to live here?’

Just for a moment she forgot that she didn’t like him overmuch. ‘Oh, but I would,’ and then sharply: ‘Why do you ask?’

She was annoyed when he didn’t answer, instead he observed in a silky voice which annoyed her very much: ‘You would find it very tame after London.’

Eileen Hunt had said something very like that too; perhaps they had been discussing her. Judith said sharply: ‘No, I wouldn’t. And now if you’ll let go of my arm, I should like to go.’ She added stiffly: ‘I shan’t see you again, Professor Cresswell; I hope your book will be a success. It’s been nice meeting you.’ She uttered the lie so unconvincingly that he laughed out loud.

‘Of course the book will be a success—my books always are. And meeting you hasn’t been nice at all, Judith Golightly.’

She patted the dogs’ heads swiftly and went down the path without another word. She would have liked to have run, but that would have looked like retreat. She wasn’t doing that, she told herself stoutly; she was getting away as quickly as possible from someone she couldn’t stand the sight of.

CHAPTER THREE

JUDITH LEFT Hawkshead with regret, aware that once she was away from it it would become a dream which would fade before the rush and bustle of hospital life; another world which wouldn’t be quite real again until she went back once more. And if she ever did, of course, it would be London which wouldn’t be real. Driving back towards the motorway and the south after bidding Uncle Tom a warm goodbye, she thought with irritation of London and her work, suddenly filled with longing to turn the Fiat and go straight back to Hawkshead and its peace and quiet. Even Charles Cresswell, mellowed by distance, seemed bearable. She found herself wondering what he was doing; sitting at his desk, she supposed, miles away in the twelfth century.

She was tooling along, well past Lancaster, when a Ferrari Dino 308 passed her on the fast lane. Charles Cresswell was driving it—he lifted a hand in greeting as he flashed past, leaving her gawping at its fast disappearing elegance. What was he doing on the M6, going south, she wondered, and in such a car? A rich man’s car too—even in these days one could buy a modest house for its price. And not at all the right transport for a professor of Ancient History—it should be something staid; a well polished Rover, perhaps, or one of the bigger Fords. She overtook an enormous bulk carrier with some caution and urged the little Fiat to do its best. There was no point in thinking any more about it, though. She wasn’t going to see him again; she dismissed him firmly from her mind and concentrated on getting home.

It was after five o’clock as she drove slowly through Lacock’s main street and then turned into the narrow road and pulled up before her parents’ house. She got out with a great sigh of relief which changed into a yelp of startled disbelief when she saw the Ferrari parked a few yards ahead of her. It could belong to someone else, of course, but she had the horrid feeling that it didn’t, and she was quite right. Her mother had opened the door and Judith, hugging and kissing her quickly, asked sharply: ‘Whose car is that? The Ferrari—don’t tell me that awful man’s here…’

They were already in the little hall and the sitting room door was slightly open. The look on her mother’s face was answer enough; there really was no need for Professor Cresswell to show his bland face round the door. He said smoothly: ‘Don’t worry, Judith, I’m on the point of leaving,’ and before she could utter a word, he had taken a warmly polite leave of her mother, given her a brief expressionless nod, and gone. She watched him get into his car and drive away and it was her mother who broke the silence. ‘Professor Cresswell kindly came out of his way to deliver a book your Uncle Tom forgot to give you for your father.’ She sounded put out and puzzled, and Judith flung an arm round her shoulders.

‘I’m sorry, Mother dear, but I was surprised. I had no idea that Professor Cresswell was leaving Hawkshead. I—I don’t get on very well with him and it was such a relief to get away from him—and then I get out of the car and there he is!’

‘You were rude,’ observed Mrs Golightly. ‘I thought he was charming.’

‘Oh, pooh—if he wants to be, he can be much ruder than I was; we disliked each other on sight.’ She frowned a little as she spoke because her words didn’t ring quite true in her own ears, but the frown disappeared as Curtis came lumbering out of the sitting room to make much of her.

‘Professor Cresswell liked Curtis,’ observed Mrs Golightly. ‘He has two dogs of his own…’

‘Yes, I know—a Border terrier and a labrador. I’ve met them.’

‘So you’ve been to his house?’ Mrs Golightly’s question was uttered with deceptive casualness.

‘Only because I had to. Where’s Father?’

‘Playing bowls—he’ll be sorry to have missed Professor Cresswell.’

‘Well, he’s got Uncle Tom’s book. I’ll get my case…’

‘Tea’s in the sitting room—I made a cup for the Professor…’

‘Cresswell,’ finished Judith snappishly, and then allowed her tongue to betray her. ‘Where was he going, anyway?’

Her mother gave her a guileless look. ‘I didn’t ask,’ she said, which was true but misleading.

There was a lot to talk about and it all had to be repeated when her father got home. It was surprising how often Charles Cresswell’s name kept cropping up; Judith decided that her dislike of him had been so intense that it would take some time to get rid of his image. ‘Hateful man!’ she muttered as she unpacked. ‘Thank heaven I’ll never see him again!’

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