"Just tea, please."
"I'm having home-made scones, what about you Guy, darling? I'm sure you've been half-starved in hospital, better start making up now." She turned to the waiter with one of her most cajoling smiles. "Tea please, and scones-nice and hot with lots and lots of butter-oh, and jam too," she called after him as he turned to execute the order. "There now, it's restful enough here, isn't it? I don't think driving without a stop is good for anyone-and you a nurse, too, why, I thought all nurses lived on cups of tea."
Ignoring the sally, Felicity spoke with a calm she was far from feeling. "We have been on the road since two, I thought Mr. Brenton might have preferred to get home and have tea quietly there."
"He is all right, aren't you, darling?" Alaine laid her hand with the bright varnished nails on his sleeve. "I knew that you'd enjoy a stop, that's why I suggested it," she ended complacently.
To Felicity the arrival of tea caused a welcome break, but Alaine, who never seemed lost for words, kept the conversational ball rolling long after their cups were emptied and the plate of scones well depleted. Felicity found it difficult to hide her irritation at the unnecessary delay. Why on earth couldn't they get the bill and move on?
At last they were back in the car, but a dull sense of frustration still filled Felicity to the exclusion of all else. She no longer had eyes for the undulating country through which they were passing, her one urge was to reach their destination.
At long last the car wound its way up a drive and stopped before a large white stone house. Felicity's first impression was of dazzling whiteness against the profusion of green which formed its background. The curved steps leading to the balustraded terrace, which was supported by Corinthian columns, widened out to a sweeping arc as they reached the gravelled drive.
The interior seemed dark as they left the sunlight, but Felicity was aware of a stately hall of forbidding dignity and a wide oak stairway leading to a gallery above.
The man-servant who had admitted them stepped back as a tall figure rose from an arm-chair beside the log fire and advanced with hands outstretched in welcome, The likeness to Guy Brenton was too marked for Felicity to have any doubt as to relationship of the two men; although the older man was now white-haired, the brown eyes beneath bushy brows were the replica of his son's. Despite his years and his height, he held himself well and there was something of a military bearing in the squared set of his shoulders.
After greeting his son he turned a kindly smile to Alaine. "Well, my dear, I'm glad to see you, you are nearly a stranger, it's been so long since we've had the pleasure of your company."
"This is Nurse Dene, Father," Guy Brenton interrupted. "She has been looking after me the past weeks and has come down for a few days to complete the job. Nurse, this is my Father, Colonel Brenton."
"Then you are very welcome." The old man grasped Felicity's hand warmly in his own. "I can imagine just how much help you have been to my son."
Felicity murmured her appreciation of the remark, then was forced to silence by Alaine's eager flow of words. "I certainly haven't been down for ages, but I've been so busy-Guy must have told you-I've got the lead in Fettle's new film. We've nearly finished shooting now, we're on the last scenes but I've been kept at the studio all day and half the night, it's the most exhausting work-you've no idea! I'm worn out, I couldn't have gone on another moment, I'd have had a nervous breakdown." She gave a low laugh. "I threatened them with that-that soon did the trick! Believe me they can't afford to have me ill, so I've wrangled a few days off to come down here and look after Guy." She slipped her arm affectionately round Guy Brenton's waist as he stood at her side. "You go up to your room, don't bother to change tonight, it's hardly worth it, but hurry down again, darling, and then you'll have time to give me a drink before dinner."
With a sudden burst of courage, born of her still smouldering resentment, Felicity spoke. So involuntary was the protest that she was surprised by her own temerity. "Mr. Brenton will not be coming down again this evening, he will get straight to bed and dine quietly in his room."
Guy Brenton had already turned towards the stairway before she had spoken, she could not even be sure that he had heard her words. Alaine seemed for once stunned into silence, but as Colonel Brenton looked at her there was no mistaking the deliberate wink of one eye beneath the shaggy brow and the twinkling smile of understanding which accompanied it. That momentary glance told Felicity without doubt that whatever difficulties she might have to face at Weir Court, in the Colonel she had found a staunch and faithful ally.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Guy Brenton had walked up the stairway so slowly that by the time he had turned down a narrow gallery flanking one side of the wide hall, Felicity was already close behind. She was aware of a moment's indecision as he flung open the door of one of the rooms and made to enter. It was doubtless his bedroom and she found herself wondering whether as his nurse, she entered to offer what assistance she could or-in her present position-did she await an invitation! Perhaps, after all, Matron had been right, there was more to being a private nurse than she had believed, it was a pity she had not listened more carefully to her instructions, although she still wondered whether they would have dealt with circumstances exactly like these. Throwing discretion to the winds, Felicity firmly and deliberately followed on Guy Brenton's heels, allowing him no chance of closing the door in her face.
The room was so austerely formal with its thick pile carpet and heavy antique furniture that, despite its mellowed beauty, it seemed to Felicity quite awe-inspiring, but the bright log fire burning in the open grate supplied a pleasant warmth, and a deep armchair drawn up before the blaze looked homely and inviting. With a confidence she was far from feeling she walked directly past Guy Brenton, who still stood within the doorway, and crossed to the fire.
"It's quite chilly now, it's lovely to see a fire." She held out her hands towards the flames, then, since her statement had brought no reply, she went on, "Shall I pull the curtains, it will help to warm the room and it's already quite dusk."
"Do as you like." The words were ungracious and as she held out her hand to take his overcoat which he was removing, he entirely ignored the gesture and flung it carelessly across the foot of the bed.
Turning way, Felicity crossed to the tall windows. For a moment she paused as if reluctant to shut out the afterglow of sunset which still bathed the hills and valleys in a golden haze and edged the clouds with a soft pink radiance. The sheer beauty of the evening filled her heart with joy, yet, underlying all, she was conscious of a deep sense of depression and uncertainty. If she had annoyed Guy Brenton with her highhanded action, then why didn't he say so, subject her to some of his scathing criticism to which she was well accustomed? She could bear anything rather than this aloof silence. What a dismal end to all the high hopes with which she had started the day, how different it had all turned out from what she had fondly imagined, and she knew, without doubt, that Alaine Jason's presence had proved the disturbing factor. The worst of it was that she couldn't actually put into words Alaine's failings, she had never by word or action been anything but charming, perhaps a little patronizing at times, but three years at St. Edwin's had inured Felicity to that.
"Aren't you going to pull the curtains?"
"Of course." Recalling herself from her reverie, Felicity carefully drew the heavy brocade curtains across the window. Unconsciously playing for time, she carefully arranged the folds, then unable to find further evasion, turned to face her companion.
Guy Brenton was already seated in the arm-chair, his legs thrust out before him and his injured arm resting along the upholstered side of the chair. He leaned forward as she approached and with his left hand searched his pockets. "Seen my pipe anywhere, was it on me or did you pack it?"
"It's in your suit-case-shall I unpack?"
"Just as you like-although Mackerley would do it later. I expect he is helping with the dinner at the moment-he is father's old batman, wonderful chap, there is nothing he can't turn his hand to."