I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

      ‘But Andrew is family,’ Julia protested. ‘Well, as good as …’

      ‘Yes, indeed. And I suppose it is reasonable to expect every family to have a skeleton somewhere about,’ Helen sighed. ‘It’s about Friday night, you see.’

      ‘The dinner party,’ Julia offered. ‘I think Mama is a little apprehensive, not having entertained for – for –’

      ‘For some time,’ her mother supplied quickly. ‘But it isn’t that. Pendenys won’t be coming now, I’m afraid, which will leave me with thirteen at table.’

      ‘And is that serious? Is it really a fact, ma’am, that people never sit thirteen to a meal?’ Andrew demanded, eyebrows raised.

      ‘Not never, exactly, but not if it can be avoided. And that is why I must ask you – and I’m sorry if you think it an afterthought, but I didn’t even know of your existence when the invitations were sent out.’ She lifted her eyes to his, looking at him, he thought, as Julia did; without flinching, even though her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

      ‘Mama! You’re asking Andrew to make up numbers,’ Julia gasped. ‘But how wonderful! You’ll say yes, won’t you, darling?’

      ‘Accept, even though it would mean staying the night?’ Helen murmured. ‘We have no motor, you see, to return you to Harrogate, and it seems an imposition to ask William to take you to the station so late. And we shall finish very late, I’m afraid …’

      ‘Lady Sutton – I would have been glad to accept, but sadly I cannot. I have no evening clothes, you see.’

      ‘Oh, dear. You didn’t pack them?’

      ‘I have none to bring with me,’ he smiled. ‘Evening dress is on my list of necessities, but quite some way down. There are other things must come first, you see, though I’ll admit I’ve had to miss many medical gatherings with after-dinner speakers I’d have liked fine to have heard, because of it. I wish I could have helped your numbers. I’m sorry.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Julia’s face showed disappointment. She would have liked nothing better than to show Andrew off, have him introduced to her mother’s friends. It would have set the seal on her family’s approval; been as good, almost, as an announcement in The Times. ‘Are you sure you –’

      ‘Very sure, Julia, though I promise you I shall think more urgently, now, about the matter. And I would have been happy to accept – you know that, Lady Sutton?’

      ‘Then in that case would you – oh, dear, this is going to make things even worse.’ Helen’s cheeks burned bright red. ‘Would you, for my sake and Julia’s, perhaps consider borrowing?’

      ‘Of course I would – if you can find someone with a suit to spare – and one that fits. I’m not so foolish, ma’am,’ he said softly, ‘that I’d let pride stand in the way of such an invitation.’

      ‘Then I thank you, and I’m almost certain we can find something. My husband, you see, would never throw anything away, and the smallest – the slimmest,’ she corrected with a smile, ‘of his evening suits is still hanging there. It is the one he wore when first we were married, but it isn’t at all dated. You are his height and build, doctor. Will you – after we have eaten – consider trying that one on? And I’m sure that somewhere there’ll be a shirt to fit, and shirt studs, though shoes I’m not too sure about. But would you …?’

      ‘I would indeed,’ he replied, gravely.

      ‘But, Mama,’ Julia gasped. ‘You never – I mean –’ Nothing that was her father’s had been discarded. Nothing that was his had been moved, even, since the day he died. His pipe still lay on the desk in the library; the loose coins from his pocket on the dressing-table where he had placed them; his cape and driving goggles still hung behind the garage door.

      ‘It’s all right,’ said Helen gently. ‘I have come out of my black and accept that I must face the world again. And I am bound to confess that the doctor is so like your pa once was – even the colour of his eyes – that I shall take no hurt in seeing John’s clothes on him,’ she whispered. ‘Please indulge me, Andrew?’ she asked, using his name for the first time. ‘I think perhaps that on Friday night I might feel a little unsure and need John with me, but if you are there, and Giles …’

      ‘I understand, ma’am. And far from taking exception to your offer, I take it kindly. We must hope,’ he smiled, ‘that the suit fits me.’

      And Julia closed her eyes and fervently hoped so, too, and thought that she had never loved her mother as she loved her now.

      ‘Vegetables?’ she smiled, offering a dish, her eyes bright with affection, her heart so full of happiness she felt light-headed. ‘And if they don’t quite fit, I’m sure Hawthorn could do a quick alteration on them – I’m sure of it.’

      And dear, sweet Lord, thank you for my lovely family and for this great singing happiness inside me.

      And please let me keep it?

      Alice held Morgan’s lead tightly, reluctant to release him. She wanted with all her heart to see Tom, even if it meant walking alone in Brattocks again, but she had felt relief, almost, when Miss Clitherow had asked her to sponge and press the suit.

      ‘The doctor’s evening dress. He’ll be coming to the dinner party,’ was all that was offered by way of explanation, but Alice at once suggested it be hung out to air, so strong was the camphory smell of mothballs on it. The suit wasn’t really the doctor’s, Alice knew; rather something long stored away and in need of a good valeting. Yet Doctor Andrew being asked to the Friday night dinner – now that was good news, she had thought, as she pegged the hangers firmly to the drying-green line. And then she had felt so guilty about Tom that she had taken Morgan’s lead and run to the library, where the impatient creature waited, tail wagging.

      And she must face Brattocks Wood again. She had promised Mr Giles, him being away seeing the agent, that she would take Morgan out; had said it would be all right, that the doctor had even suggested that she do it.

      ‘A bit like falling off a horse,’ he’d assured her. ‘You get straight back in the saddle …’

      Yet now here she was at the woodland fence – unsure, and wanting to keep Morgan beside her, even though she was certain that Tom would be there and Elliot Sutton would not; even though her hatpin, on good advice, was secure beneath the lapel of her jacket.

      ‘You never know,’ Tilda said sagely, recounting one of her love-book heroines who had defended her virtue with the pin from her Sunday hat.

      ‘No,’ Alice whispered to the animal who had become used to being released at the fence. ‘Stay now, there’s a good dog.’ Carefully manoeuvring the lead from hand to hand, she climbed the stile, then stood, ears straining for the snapping of a twig that might betray some other presence. But Tom walked without sound as a keeper should, and the silence comforted her. ‘Tom?’ she called. ‘Tom Dwerryhouse?’

      At once she heard his answering whistle. It was all right! He was waiting for her! Bending, she released the lead, relief pulsing through her. Nothing could harm her, she should have known it, and taking in a deep, calming gulp of air, tilting her chin high, she began to walk the narrow, moss-edged path.

      She needed to see Tom, she urged silently; wanted him to hold her, touch her, because last night she had discovered the depths to which a man could sink and she needed to be sure that men like Elliot Sutton were few and far between. She wanted to close her eyes and lift her mouth to Tom’s so she might forget the way another man had kissed her; but most of all she wanted to know she had not changed, that what had happened only a few yards from this spot had not caused her to mistrust all men – even Tom, who loved her.

      ‘Alice, sweetheart …’

      He was there, Morgan at his heels; the same Tom. So why did some strange voice inside her demand she must be sure