sheet that had already been straightened by Miss Brown.
The latter walked over to the big window and started tugging apart one of the tightly- packed vases of flowers that had been placed there by Hannah.
“I bought these in London,” the donor declared somewhat sharply, “and I don’t want them to fade too soon! If Richard is to have the pleasure of them I’m afraid they’ll have to be arranged rather more loosely than this! Do you think I could have another vase?” barely glancing over her shoulder at Charlotte. “And if you’ll tell me where the nearest bathroom is I’ll do them without making a mess of your carpet! ”
“That won’t be necessary,” Charlotte replied quietly, going across to her and taking possession of the vase. “I expect Hannah was in a hurry when she crammed them in like this, and in any case there are far too many of them for a sick room. “If you don’t mind, a few of them could go downstairs -”
“I’d prefer it if they remained where they are,” Claire returned in an inflexible voice. “Well… outside in the corridor, perhaps?” “Not unless Richard finds the scent too overpowering?”
She glanced at Richard, and he looked slightly exhausted, as if rather more than the heady perfume of the flowers was overpowering him. Charlotte immediately experienced a sensation of guilt, and was annoyed with herself for entering into an argument about the flowers simply and solely because she hadn’t bought him any herself, and this fantastically attractive visitor of his had brought the contents of a florist’s shop all the way from London. She moved anxiously to the bedside and asked him whether he was feeling very tired.
“Not a bit.” He smiled at her, however, in rather a bleak, wan way. “Why should I be when I do nothing but lie in bed? And I seem to be causing a certain amount of dissension -” “You’re not,” she assured him warmly, once more tucking in his sheet. “It’s just that people have different views on how many flowers – particularly hot-house ones!
– should be allowed into a sick-room. Would you like me to draw the curtains together?” she enquired, as he blinked in the bright glare from off the sea that was filling his white-walled room. “It’s a bit trying – so much sun… ”
“No, leave them.” But he slid down in the bed and turned his face wearily towards the opposite wall. “Do you mind if I go to sleep?”
“No, of course not. And later on I’ll bring you some supper.”
“I’ll be in to see you to-morrow morning, darling,” Claire Brown said softly to him, as she, too, returned to the bed and bent over it. “I’m staying at the local inn – where you were staying until you had your accident – and I’ve booked in for a week, at least. I’ll come up every day, and we’ll have some nice, quiet chats – that might help you to get back your memory! ”
Tremarth looked up at her. He seemed to be trying to get her into perspective.
“Chats?” he echoed. And then, accompanying the words with a groan: “I wish I was a little more clear about things – ”
Hannah appeared in the open doorway.
“I think the patient can do with a little peace and quiet,” she said. She frowned severely at the visitor, and she also seemed to frown at
Charlotte. “If you don’t mind removing yourselves, you two?” she said. And then she pounced on the flowers, “And we’ll have these out for the night! ”
Downstairs Charlotte telephoned for the village taxi for Claire, and while they waited for it the two girls wandered aimlessly up and down the terrace outside. Miss Brown condescended to observe that her employer had come to grief in a very delightful spot, and she seemed to think the view over the sea from the terrace was rather staggering. Her slim brows crinkled as she turned to look rather curiously at the other girl.
“Is this the place Richard was thinking of buying?” she asked. “And are you the young woman who refused to part with it?”
Charlotte answered coolly:
“There was never any question of Mr. Tremarth buying Tremarth. “It’s not up for sale.” Claire Brown smiled in an amused way.
“You don’t know Richard,” she said “The fact that it’s not up for sale would mean little or nothing to him. If he wants something he – well, he just suddenly possesses himself of it!”
“I don’t think he is in the least likely to possess himself of Tremarth,” the other informed her coldly.
Miss Brown climbed gracefully into the taxi when it arrived, and she reiterated her intention of visiting the invalid the following day. With a cool wave of her white-gloved hand she called:
“I shall spend the day with Richard. I think it might do him good! ”
CHAPTER VI
HANNAH declined to allow Charlotte to visit the invalid’s room again that night, and as he seemed so much better, and even enjoyed a little of the specially cooked sole when it was prepared for him – after a sleep of nearly a couple of hours following the departure of his secretary – decided against sitting up with him that night, and simply set the alarm clock in her bedroom to awaken her every few hours.
Charlotte felt a little annoyed because her offer to sit with Richard for a few hours during the night was firmly rejected by her friend, and when Hannah expressed the opinion that young women were not good for Tremarth in his present state very noticeably elevated her eyebrows.
“Young women?” she echoed. “But you’re a young woman yourself, aren’t you?”
Hannah replied loftily:
“You forget that I’m a nurse. And,” she added, “I don’t happen to be particularly glamorous.”
“I’m sure that Dr. Mackay thinks you’ve a kind of glamour all your own,” Charlotte could not refrain from submitting it as her opinion. “As a matter of fact, I think he thinks you’ve a good deal of glamour in that fetching cap and apron you’ve unearthed from your suitcase.” Hannah coloured rosily, and as a result acquired a very definite healthy glamour.
“For all I know Dr. Mackay is a very much married man,” she said, revealing that there had been moments in the course of the past forty-eight hours when she had turned the matter over in her mind. “And in any case, he’s a very hard-headed Scotsman,” she added.
Charlotte smiled, and returned to the task of setting a breakfast tray for Richard Tremarth. Hannah did not neglect to notice that she added a pale pink rose to the tray – a fresh pink bud that would have opened up nicely by the morning. And the container she selected for it was a delicate crystal vase that she had unearthed from a china cabinet in the drawing room, a cabinet which housed only a few extremely costly items of china and glassware.
“You don’t think,” Hannah suggested, “that Mr. Tremarth already has far too many flowers in his room? Or will have when we off-load them all on to him again in the morning! ” Charlotte merely glanced at her but said nothing.
Hannah smiled, and let Waterloo out at the French window as part of the final ritual before settling down for the night.
Charlotte carried Richard’s breakfast tray to him while Hannah was still enjoying a leisurely bath in one of the far from up-to-date bathrooms at Tremarth, following an absolutely undisturbed night during which the patient had slept soundly and peacefully. He was looking so much better – and so very much more like the Richard Tremarth Charlotte had felt strangely antagonised by when he made himself known to her in the bar of the Three Sailors – that she could hardly believe he hadn’t also recovered his memory when she set the tray down on the bedside table, and prepared to swing the table across the bed.
“It’s a wonderful morning,” she declared, giving him quite a radiant smile, “and you look as if you’ve had a good night. Have you?”
“A perfect night. At least – ” he frowned a little as he attempted to recall it – “I must have slept like a log, for I don’t even remember dreaming. And I’ve had some pretty lurid dreams lately.”
“Have you?” She poured him a cup of tea, and held it out to him gently. “That must have been beastly. I hate lurid dreams.”
He smiled at her quizzically.
