LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER TWO

      DEBORAH quickly discovered that there was to be no chance of saying anything. Young Mrs Vernon had a smooth answer for Sir James’s questions. Oh, yes, she assured him earnestly, her aunt had a varied liquid diet and she herself had massaged the flaccid arms and legs just as the nurse had told her to do. ‘Quite exhausting,’ she added, the very picture of patient effort.

      Sir James had little to say; he nodded courteously and indicated that he would like to examine his patient. Deborah, waved away by Mrs Vernon’s imperious hand, stepped back and watched while that lady turned back the bed covers, observing, ‘Of course my aunt doesn’t understand anything, does she? There is absolutely no response …’

      Sir James didn’t speak, but bent his vast bulk over the bed and began a leisurely examination of his patient. He was very thorough and when it was necessary to turn the patient from one side to the other it was Deborah who did it. ‘For,’ declared young Mrs Vernon, ‘I simply haven’t the strength.’ Dr Benson patted her hand in a sympathetic manner but Sir James took no notice, intent as he was on noting reactions from his patient’s feet. Not that there were any. Deborah replaced the bedclothes, squeezed one of the quiet hands on them and efficiently retired to her corner.

      Sir James straightened his enormous back. He said clearly, looking at the old lady as he spoke, ‘I see no reason why Mrs Vernon should not recover at least two-thirds of her normal capacity. Perhaps we might discuss what is to be done …’

      ‘How splendid,’ observed young Mrs Vernon, not meaning a word of it, and Dr Benson looked doubtful.

      ‘It would mean treatment of some sort, presumably? But Mrs Vernon simply couldn’t allow her aunt to go into hospital—here she has all the care she needs.’

      ‘Perhaps if we talk about this downstairs?’ suggested Sir James and smiled at Deborah as he left the room.

      Deborah whisked herself over to the bed. ‘He’s on our side,’ she said to the mask-like face on its pillows. ‘He said that you would get better, you heard him, didn’t you?’ She received a wink, and went on, ‘I must see him—if only he would stay for lunch I might see him when he leaves.’

      Fate was, for once, being helpful. Cook told her that Sir James was staying to lunch although Dr Benson had had to go, ‘Though he did say that he would have to be back in London later this afternoon. I’m to have lunch ready for one o’clock sharp so’s he can leave by half-past two.’

      Deborah, about to leave the kitchen with a jug of the delicious nourishing bouillon purloined from the dining-room lunch, paused to ask, ‘Could Florrie come punctually, do you think? If she could come before two o’clock—I’ll come back early to make up for it.’

      ‘Don’t you worry, miss,’ said Cook, polishing the glasses at the table, ‘I’ll see she’s there. Come down for your lunch as soon as you can. Old Mrs Vernon’ll enjoy that bouillon—real tasty it is.’

      Deborah talked while she fed the old lady, making plans about what they could do once Mrs Vernon was on her feet again. ‘What you really need is a room on the ground floor so that I can put you in a wheelchair and take you for walks. But first we have to get you out of bed …’

      She went down to her own lunch presently and took her tray into the morning-room and closed the door carefully to shut out the sound of young Mrs Vernon’s laugh. Deborah, a gentle soul by nature, really hated her. However, she had other things to think about; if Florrie was punctual she could be out of the house soon after two o’clock and since there was only one road to the village and the main road beyond it, Sir James would have to go that way. She would lie in wait for him, she decided, gobbling up the little dish of profiteroles Cook had saved from the dessert destined for the dining-room.

      She had just finished settling Mrs Vernon for the afternoon when Florrie came and settled herself with a magazine near the bed.

      ‘I’ll be back by half-past three,’ promised Deborah, and added, ‘thank you, Florrie.’

      ‘Meeting your boyfriend?’ asked Florrie.

      ‘With my plain face?’ Deborah spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I haven’t got one—never had, not had the time nor the chance.’

      ‘Well, I never, miss, and you’re not all that plain, if you’d do your hair different like for a start—it’s a lovely colour and I bet it curls a bit if only you’d give it a chance.’

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ promised Deborah. She took a last look at the old lady and hurried off to get on her outdoor things; she had wasted time talking to Florrie.

      It was the end of March and the month was going out like a lamb, true to the old adage. It was pleasant walking along the narrow country road but she didn’t loiter; she wanted to be at least halfway to the village, well away from the house. If she remembered rightly there was a layby there; it would do nicely. All she had to do was to get him to stop.

      She reached the spot and found it highly satisfactory for the road stretched on either side of it in a more or less straight line so that she would see him coming. It was merely a question of waiting.

      She didn’t have to wait long. The grey Bentley came rushing towards her in dignified silence and she stepped into the middle of the road and held up an arm. The great car stopped smoothly and Sir James opened the door.

      ‘Do get in,’ he said pleasantly. ‘We can talk more easily.’

      He waited while she got in and sat down and then leaned across her and closed the door.

      ‘Did you know I’d be here?’

      ‘I rather expected to see you …’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘You have an expressive face, Miss Everett.’ He turned to look at her. ‘What is worrying you?’

      She studied his face before she replied; he wasn’t only a

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