Read Online The Tender Glory by Jean S. Macleod - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jean S. Macleod
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could pick you up and you could come for tea with my mother.”
“No!” The sharp refusal stopped her in her tracks. Tessa’s face was frozen, her dark eyes bleak. “I don’t visit,” she added hurriedly. “I find it a terrible bore.” Taken completely aback, Alison didn’t know what to say.
“You can come here and use the piano, if you like,” Tessa added, “but I won’t go to Craigie Hill.”
“You must please yourself,” Alison answered a trifle sharply. “My mother would have been glad of your company. She’s tied to the house just now, waiting to go to Wick for an operation.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It—was just that I thought she wouldn’t want to see me.” Alison started the engine.
“I can’t think why,” she said as she drove away.
The sharp little encounter puzzled her all the way home. Quite apart from feeling sorry for Tessa Searle, she had felt strangely drawn towards her, although Tessa herself had not been particularly friendly. She had been hostile about her visit to Sterne, for example, and the fact that Huntley had been helpful with the van. That might be natural, of course, if she were in love with Huntley.
Poor Tessa! She had been so eager to insist that he took her around with him whenever he could, but it seemed that Huntley was chained to a memory.
She thought of Leone Searle, feeling that she understood.
“You’ll need to let Neillie take the van,” Kirsty greeted her arrival. “You take far too long.”
“And who would do the milking?” Alison asked. “I’m sorry I’m late, Kirsty, but the van broke down.” It was no use explaining the technicalities of plugs and damp to Kirsty in her present mood. “I had to get help.”
“Are you ready for your porridge?” Kirsty asked, standing with the pot in her hand. “It’s gie thick, but there’s a time to tak’ porridge off the hob, as ye know!”
“I’ll take it any way,” Allison assured her. “I’m so hungry I
could almost eat the pot!”
“I’ll boil you an egg,” Kirsty offered, mollified.
While she was still at the table her mother came down to sit in the chair beside the fire.
“Kirsty was getting ready to send out a search-party,” Helen said with her quiet smile. “You were longer than usual.”
“The van let me down.” Alison poured her a cup of tea. “And I suppose I stayed gossiping a while at the Lodge.” She buttered a slice of toast. “Mother, what happened to Tessa Searle?”
There was a small, abrupt silence. Helen sat with her tea cup in her hands, sipping the tea slowly, as if she had need of its sustaining power.
“There was an accident,” she said. “She was hurt in Huntley Daviot’s car.”
Alison drew in a swift breath.
“No wonder he goes there so often,” she said. “Perhaps he feels he was to blame.”
“Perhaps.” Helen went on sipping her tea. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, but they seemed to be gazing deeply into the past. “Folk talk that way. He brought her back here when they had done all they could for her at Inverness. She’s not been far from the Lodge since.”
“Will she always be crippled?”
“I wouldn’t say she was crippled.” Helen’s voice was sharp. “She walks awkwardly, but that could come right.” “You don’t like her,” Alison suggested.
Helen got up to put her empty cup on the table. “That’s not the way of it at all,” she said. “I think she hasn’t the courage to face up to her troubles.”
She wouldn’t say any more, although Alison knew there was far more to be said. She felt stunned by the knowledge of Tessa’s accident and Huntley’s part in it, yet why should she believe that it even remotely concerned her?
CHAPTER FOUR
MAJOR SEARLE came to the door when she delivered the milk to the Lodge the following morning.
“Tessa tells me you would like to use our piano,” he said, standing beside the van. “I’d be happy if you would.”
“So long as
“No!” The sharp refusal stopped her in her tracks. Tessa’s face was frozen, her dark eyes bleak. “I don’t visit,” she added hurriedly. “I find it a terrible bore.” Taken completely aback, Alison didn’t know what to say.
“You can come here and use the piano, if you like,” Tessa added, “but I won’t go to Craigie Hill.”
“You must please yourself,” Alison answered a trifle sharply. “My mother would have been glad of your company. She’s tied to the house just now, waiting to go to Wick for an operation.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It—was just that I thought she wouldn’t want to see me.” Alison started the engine.
“I can’t think why,” she said as she drove away.
The sharp little encounter puzzled her all the way home. Quite apart from feeling sorry for Tessa Searle, she had felt strangely drawn towards her, although Tessa herself had not been particularly friendly. She had been hostile about her visit to Sterne, for example, and the fact that Huntley had been helpful with the van. That might be natural, of course, if she were in love with Huntley.
Poor Tessa! She had been so eager to insist that he took her around with him whenever he could, but it seemed that Huntley was chained to a memory.
She thought of Leone Searle, feeling that she understood.
“You’ll need to let Neillie take the van,” Kirsty greeted her arrival. “You take far too long.”
“And who would do the milking?” Alison asked. “I’m sorry I’m late, Kirsty, but the van broke down.” It was no use explaining the technicalities of plugs and damp to Kirsty in her present mood. “I had to get help.”
“Are you ready for your porridge?” Kirsty asked, standing with the pot in her hand. “It’s gie thick, but there’s a time to tak’ porridge off the hob, as ye know!”
“I’ll take it any way,” Allison assured her. “I’m so hungry I
could almost eat the pot!”
“I’ll boil you an egg,” Kirsty offered, mollified.
While she was still at the table her mother came down to sit in the chair beside the fire.
“Kirsty was getting ready to send out a search-party,” Helen said with her quiet smile. “You were longer than usual.”
“The van let me down.” Alison poured her a cup of tea. “And I suppose I stayed gossiping a while at the Lodge.” She buttered a slice of toast. “Mother, what happened to Tessa Searle?”
There was a small, abrupt silence. Helen sat with her tea cup in her hands, sipping the tea slowly, as if she had need of its sustaining power.
“There was an accident,” she said. “She was hurt in Huntley Daviot’s car.”
Alison drew in a swift breath.
“No wonder he goes there so often,” she said. “Perhaps he feels he was to blame.”
“Perhaps.” Helen went on sipping her tea. Her eyes were fixed on the fire, but they seemed to be gazing deeply into the past. “Folk talk that way. He brought her back here when they had done all they could for her at Inverness. She’s not been far from the Lodge since.”
“Will she always be crippled?”
“I wouldn’t say she was crippled.” Helen’s voice was sharp. “She walks awkwardly, but that could come right.” “You don’t like her,” Alison suggested.
Helen got up to put her empty cup on the table. “That’s not the way of it at all,” she said. “I think she hasn’t the courage to face up to her troubles.”
She wouldn’t say any more, although Alison knew there was far more to be said. She felt stunned by the knowledge of Tessa’s accident and Huntley’s part in it, yet why should she believe that it even remotely concerned her?
CHAPTER FOUR
MAJOR SEARLE came to the door when she delivered the milk to the Lodge the following morning.
“Tessa tells me you would like to use our piano,” he said, standing beside the van. “I’d be happy if you would.”
“So long as
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