Judith. Betty Neels

dining room, on the other side of the hall, was every bit as pleasant as the sitting room. Judith, sitting between the vet and a rather prosy elderly man who had little to say for himself, glanced round the big oval table. Eileen was sitting beside her host, leaning towards him with a laughing face and what Judith could only describe as a proprietorial air. Was that what the cousin had meant? Was the Professor going to take a wife? Judith felt the vague dislike she had had for the girl turn to something much stronger, which considering she didn’t like Charles Cresswell one little bit seemed strange.

      The prosy man, having delivered himself of a lengthy speech about local weather, applied himself to his soup, and Judith did the same. It was excellent, as was the salmon which followed it and the saddle of lamb which the Professor carved with precise speed. The prosy man seemed disinclined for conversation; she and the vet carried on a comfortable, desultory chat which took them through the delicious trifle and a glass of the Muscat which had followed the white Bordeaux and the claret, before the ladies rose from the table and trooped back into the sitting room.

      ‘Very old-fashioned,’ commented the vet’s wife, ‘but Charles is too old to change his ways, I suppose. Besides, I rather like it, don’t you?’ She tucked a friendly hand into Judith’s arm and strolled to the still open doors. ‘Nice, isn’t it? Such quiet, and a heavenly view. We only get a chance to come here about twice a year, you know. Most of the time Charles shuts himself up and writes and the rest of the time he’s travelling around looking for bits of mediaeval history. Your uncle tells me you’re a nurse. That must be interesting.’

      ‘Yes, it is, but I don’t think I’ll be able to bear London after this.’

      ‘You live there?’

      ‘I work there, my parents live in Lacock—that’s in Wiltshire. It’s lovely there too.’

      Some of the older women joined them then, and the talk became general until the men came in and her uncle came over. ‘Enjoying yourself, my dear?’ he wanted to know. ‘The headache’s gone? Do you mind very much if we leave within the next few minutes? I’ve explained to Charles that I might get a call from the Lindsays later on this evening.’

      He turned away to speak to one of the other men and Judith, finding herself with the prosy man again, listened with outward politeness and an inner peevishness to a lengthy diatribe against the local government. She would be glad to leave, she decided silently; she had no interest in Charles Cresswell or his house, or his friends. It crossed her mind at the same time that he hadn’t any interest in her either. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since his brief greeting; he had invited her out of politeness because Uncle Tom wouldn’t have come without her, but he made no attempt to hide his dislike. And she disliked him too—heartily.

      ‘A delightful evening,’ she told her host as she and her uncle left a little later, and gave him a smile as insincere as her words. She was greatly put out at his laugh.

      ‘Was it, Judith?’ His voice was bland. ‘Such a pity that you have to go back to London so soon. You’ve had very little time to get to know us—you’ll forget us, I’m sure.’

      She said nothing to this but stood silently while Uncle Tom and his host arranged a date for a day’s climbing. She would be gone by then, of course, but she doubted very much if she would have been included in Charles Cresswell’s invitation.

      They drove the short way back in silence and when she had seen to the small bedtime chores and left a thermos of hot coffee ready in case her uncle was called out during the night, she went up to bed. The evening hadn’t been a success—but then, she argued with herself, she hadn’t expected it to be. All the same, she was filled with disappointment that she couldn’t account for. And she didn’t like Eileen; she hoped she wouldn’t have to meet her again, although that wasn’t very likely. The girl lived in Windermere and she would take great care not to go there.

      She went the very next day, much against her will. One of her uncle’s patients, an elderly lady of an irascible nature, had driven over from Bowness to consult him. Her car was a vintage Austin and she drove badly. She had reversed into the doctor’s stone wall and shaken up the old car’s innards so badly that she had been forced to leave it at the village garage and then, considering herself very ill used, had demanded some kind of transport to take her home. It was a pity that Judith should go through the hall while she was making her needs known in no uncertain manner to Uncle Tom who, in what Judith considered to be a cowardly fashion, instantly suggested that his niece would be only too glad…

      So Judith had ferried Mrs Grant back home, a pleasant house nearer Windermere than Bowness, and would have made her escape at once, only Mrs Grant remembered an important letter which simply had to go from the main post office in Windermere and would Judith be so kind…

      She found the post office, posted the letter and remembered that she hadn’t had her coffee, so she left the car parked and went to look for a café. There were any number, and she chose the Hideaway, largely because of its name, and the first person she saw as she went inside was Eileen Hunt.

      It was impossible to pretend that she hadn’t seen her, and when Eileen beckoned her over to share her table she went over, wishing she’d chosen any café but that one. But Eileen seemed pleased to see her. ‘Such a pity you had to go early yesterday,’ she observed with apparent friendliness, ‘but I daresay you find our little dinner parties rather dull after London.’

      ‘I don’t go out a great deal—at least not to dinner parties. I found this one very pleasant.’ Judith ordered her coffee and changed the subject. ‘What a lovely morning.’

      Eileen sipped coffee. ‘Yes. I expect you go out a good deal with the doctors in the hospital, don’t you?’

      ‘Occasionally,’ said Judith coolly.

      ‘How romantic,’ said Eileen, and flicked a quick glance at Judith. ‘I daresay you’ll marry one of them.’

      Judith thought very briefly of Nigel. Her mother had forwarded two letters from him and she hadn’t answered either of them; she went faintly pink with guilt and Eileen smiled. ‘Wouldn’t it be thrilling if he came all this way just to see you?’

      ‘Very thrilling,’ said Judith, refusing to be drawn. She finished her coffee. ‘I must go—I hadn’t intended coming out this morning and I’ve a mass of things to do.’ She smiled a polite goodbye, got to her feet and turned round, straight into Professor Cresswell. He sidestepped to avoid her and with a quick good morning, she went past him and out of the café. So much for those learned hours at his desk, brooding over the twelfth century! It rankled that he had found her visit to the house so disturbing—squawking like a hen, she remembered with fury—and yet he could spend the morning with that giggling idiot of an Eileen. Well, he’d got what he deserved, she told herself as she drove back to Hawkshead, and it was no business of hers, anyway. And in three days’ time she would be going home.

      On her last day, with Mrs Lockyer safely back in the kitchen, Judith took herself off to Coniston. She had promised herself that she would climb the Old Man of Coniston, and although it was well past lunchtime by the time she got there there were several paths which would take her to the top without the need to hurry too much. She parked the car in the village and started off. She enjoyed walking, even uphill, and she was quite her old self again by now, making an easy job of the climb, and once at the top, perched on a giant boulder to admire the enormous view. It was warm now and presently she curled up and closed her eyes. It would be nice to be at home again, she thought sleepily, and there was still a week before going back to hospital—which reminded her of Nigel. She dozed off, frowning.

      She slept for half an hour or more and woke with the sun warm on her face. She didn’t open her eyes at once, but lay there, frowning again. Nigel was bad enough when she was awake, but to dream of him too was more than enough. She sighed and opened her eyes slowly, and looked straight at Charles Cresswell, sitting on another boulder a foot or two away.

      ‘Why were you frowning?’ he wanted to know.

      Judith sat up. Denim slacks and a T-shirt did nothing