Heaven is High Read online

  ‘It was your afternoon off. That’s all finished.’

  ‘Don’t I get any time off, then?’

  He came further into the room and stood looking down at her dispassionately.

  ‘You talk as if you’re still an employee of mine.’

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re my—fiancée, and that makes a slight difference.’

  Moving over to the bed, Kathryn turned back the cover and began carefully to fold it.

  ‘I’m still entitled to a little leisure time, John,’ she told him seriously. ‘My mother expects me this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s your mother you’re going to see?’ he asked crisply. ‘It wasn’t last Wednesday, was it?’

  She glanced up, faint colour tinting her cheeks.

  ‘Michael had a piece of netsuke which he thought might interest me. I did in fact buy it.’

  ‘You collect netsuke?’ he queried, subjecting her to a piercing scrutiny.

  ‘I have a few pieces, yes.’ Kathryn gave her attention to the cover again. Having folded it she placed it on the chair, taking off the new one and spreading it on the bed.

  ‘You have some expensive hobbies,’ he remarked on a faintly sneering note. ‘Did Mr. Southon help you with your netsuke collection?’

  A trembling sigh escaped her. Having spread the cover, and straightened it to her liking, she stood up and faced him, her eyes unnaturally bright.

  ‘Mr. Southon didn’t buy me anything at all. He gave me the presents that you know of, but I saved my salary and bought things like the netsuke—things which I like to own.’ There was a hint of reproach in her voice and for a brief moment she sensed an uncertainty about him, but it was gone instantly, replaced by the more familiar icy contempt.

  ‘You’re a clever and a scheming woman, Kathryn,’ he said, his lip curling. ‘But you’re not quite clever enough. You’ll never be mistress here, I can assure you of that, so the sooner you decide to return my ring the better it will be for us both.’ Without giving her time to comment he turned and strode from the room. A moment later she heard his little radio, and the announcer’s soft voice reading the news.

  Immediately lunch was over Kathryn said she was going out.

  ‘I must see my mother. She expects me to visit her once a week and, as you’ve said, I didn’t visit her last week.’

  ‘Very well, you may go; but be back here for dinner.’ Ignoring that order, which was calculated to bring some spirited retort, Kathryn said gently,

  ‘Will it be all right if I take one of the cars?’

  He opened his mouth to refuse; she waited breathlessly, for it was pouring with rain and the bus stop was over half a mile away.

  ‘You can take the small one.’

  ‘The very small one? But there’s something wrong with the steering.’

  ‘So you say. I didn’t find anything wrong with it.’

  She shook her head. ‘It is wrong, John. It went out of control on me.’

  His lip curled.

  ‘Tell the truth. You’re now too much of the lady to be seen driving the small car—’

  ‘You know it isn’t that!’ she cut in indignantly. ‘I don’t care which car I use—but I want it to be safe.’

  ‘The small one’s safe. Take that, or do without.’ She would use the bus, Kathryn decided, and went upstairs for her raincoat and umbrella. But no sooner had she stepped outside than the heavens opened, and she stepped back inside again. She couldn’t ‘walk half a mile in this. After waiting for about ten minutes she went in to fetch the car key. John was just coming downstairs and she turned to him.

  ‘I’m going in the car—it isn’t safe, John...’ He had reached the bottom of the stairs and, without even looking at her, he passed her and entered the Drawing Room. Shrugging resignedly, she went out to the garage and a few moments later she was gingerly trying out the car in the old drive. At the end of this was the Gate House, or the Dower House as it was originally. Reaching this, Kathryn pulled up sharply. Odd, but the steering seemed to be all right now. Turning the car round, she tried it again. Yes, John was right, there was nothing wrong with it ... but there had been; she couldn’t have made a mistake like that. The car was definitely out of control at one time when last she had it on the road, and she had mentioned it to John immediately on her return. He had said he would have it attended to, but he must have tested himself first, and found nothing wrong with it. No wonder he suspected her of not wanting to use it—but then he suspected her of all sorts of things these days, and Kathryn could not blame him, for he firmly believed her to be the clever scheming woman he had called her an hour or so ago. Always she tried to remember that; to remember he did not know the truth; for only in this way could she forgive him all the slights to which he subjected her.

  She drove with extreme care, and very slowly, but by the time she arrived at her home she had begun to wonder if she had imagined a fault in the steering of the car, because it had given her no trouble at all. Perhaps on that other occasion she had not been fully concentrating on her driving. With most drivers there was the odd occasion when their mind would wander for a second, and their car would naturally swerve. Yes, it must have been her own fault, she concluded, feeling much happier now that she knew she could safely drive back to the Hall at a reasonable speed, for there was nothing quite so monotonous as having to go slowly when the road invited speed.

  ‘You look pale, dear.’ Her mother examined her face critically. ‘It’s the strain, I expect. Er—when is the wedding? Have you fixed the date yet?’ Kathryn had not even taken her things off before the question came.

  ‘Not yet, Mother.’ She hung her coat in the hall and followed her mother into the spotless, cosy living-room. ‘Are you all by yourself?’

  ‘Your father’s on two-ten this week—I told you on the phone.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ She sat down; the budgerigar flew out of his cage and settled on her shoulder. She put out a finger and he hopped on to it. ‘Sammy ... say hello. Sammy ... say hello.’

  Smiling, Kathryn leant back in her chair. Behind the fine-meshed guard the fire was roaring in the grate—her mother loved huge fires. It was worse to be cold than hungry, she always maintained, and Kathryn had never really thought about it. For, in Britain anyway, there were few people these days who couldn’t have both. Kathryn looked around. Her mother was a born homemaker, and the snug comfort found in her house was something which Kathryn had always appreciated. And eager as she was to fall in with Mr. Southon’s suggestion and live in at the Hall, she had for a while missed her home and her parents.

  ‘I’ll get the tea ready,’ Mrs. Ramsey said, after watching Kathryn with the bird. ‘I’ve made some marmalade, and for all I say it myself it’s really good.’

  ‘I’ll have some of that,’ Kathryn returned eagerly. ‘Have you made scones as well?’

  Her mother nodded.

  ‘We’ll have a nice cosy tea together, just the two of us.’ A faint yearning in her voice made Kathryn look up, but Mrs. Ramsey was already leaving the room, going into the bright little kitchen where she spent a great part of her life. Rising, Kathryn held her hand to the cage and the bird hopped inside. Then, taking a tablecloth from the drawer, she spread it on the table. Twenty minutes later she and her mother were seated by the fire, having their tea.

  ‘I thought you’d have fixed a date for the wedding.’ Mrs. Ramsey brought up the subject again, and Kathryn detected a note of anxiety in her voice as she added, ‘You are happy about it, Kathryn? I mean, I’m thrilled at the idea of your marrying John, and being the lady of the manor, but I do want you to be happy too.’

  ‘I’m happy—but we’re not in love, Mother, and—and so it’s—well, difficult sometimes.’

  ‘You mean—? You can’t mean that John’s unkind, or anything? No, he’d never be; I knew he was a charming young man the moment you introduced us to him. And later, when we’d really had a long chat with him, both your father and I were
thoroughly satisfied about your future. I said you’d both do very well, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ she smiled, ‘you did.’

  ‘I expect you’ll be fixing the wedding date soon,’ went on Mrs. Ramsey. ‘Is it to be in the cathedral?’

  Kathryn looked down at her plate. It was to have been in the ancient church, the church in which all the Fittons had worshipped, even though they had their own chapel inside the Hall. It was a most beautiful building of weathered sandstone and mellowed with age. The great yews in the churchyard were probably over a thousand years old, being entered in the Domesday Book nearly nine hundred years ago. Kathryn had been thrilled with the prospect of being married there, with the villagers out, laughing and throwing confetti. She had seen many village weddings since coming to Marbeck, and it was always like that. The villagers would gather outside the church, gossiping and waiting for the bride. It was an intimate affair, and sacred. Realizing her mother was expecting an answer, Kathryn said brightly,

  ‘I—we’d rather be married at Marbeck church. I don’t think John would like too big a wedding.’ She wanted to change the subject, and she began talking about her sisters, who were supposed to be getting another flat.

  ‘They’re not looking,’ her mother said with slight impatience. ‘And it’s so hard to keep the place tidy with them around. I’m always at it in here, and the bedrooms—well, I’ve no need to describe those to you!’

  ‘No.’ Kathryn laughed even while remembering that dreadful bedroom of Rita’s. ‘They don’t get a scrap better, do they?’

  ‘They don’t grow up; though I must say they did try when they first came—when you made them leave the Hall, that was, but they’ve gradually drifted back into their old slipshod ways again.’

  ‘There’s nothing basically wrong with them, though,’ Kathryn said staunchly. ‘They’re very young yet.’

  ‘Rita’s nineteen ; she should be acquiring a little more sense by now.’

  ‘I’ll clear away and wash up,’ Kathryn offered a little while later, when they had finished their tea. ‘And then I must go, I suppose.’

  ‘You suppose?’ frowned Mrs. Ramsey, looking sharply at her. ‘What an odd thing to say, Kathryn ‘A troubled pause and then, ‘You are happy, child?’

  ‘I’ve said so, Mother. But I’ve also reminded you that we’re not in love.’ John was not in love, she thought, an almost physical little ache in her heart. But at least he had liked her a little when they became engaged.

  ‘No, dear, you’ve already said that, but—’ She broke off, her frown deepening. ‘That girl who was at your party—the one John danced with several times— they weren’t going about together, or anything like that?’

  ‘They were very friendly,’ Kathryn had to admit. ‘Delia Slade, her name is. They live about three miles from the Hall.’

  ‘They were friendly? You don’t think...? What am I saying?’ she amended hastily. ‘You and John are to be married, and what he once felt for another girl doesn’t matter. He couldn’t have felt anything really deep, otherwise he wouldn’t have offered to marry you, would he?’

  ‘No, Mother,’ Kathryn agreed with a small sigh. Her mother was being far from tactful, but her words couldn’t hurt; Kathryn was already just as much hurt as she could be. She felt nothing could make her more unhappy than she was at present.

  ‘I’ll see you next week, at the same time,’ Kathryn said as she got into the car. ‘Love to Dad, and Rita and Dawn.’

  ‘I’ll give it to them, dear. Goodbye—take care.’

  ‘I will,’ promised Kathryn, smiling. ‘Don’t stand at the door waving; it’s too cold and wet.’

  She was on a fairly quiet road when it happened. Having decided that there was no fault in the steering after all, Kathryn put her foot down on the accelerator and drove at her normal speed. She had just passed another car when, with a shock, she found the wheel useless in her hands; instinctively she jammed on the brakes. Some yards ahead, on the opposite side of the road, a lorry was parked; the driver was standing by his cab, doing something to the door. Utterly helpless to prevent it, Kathryn sat there while her car went careering across the road towards the man. She put her finger on the klaxon and kept it there. Was he deaf? she thought wildly. He looked up, gaped for a second and just as he jumped clear Kathryn closed her eyes tightly...

  Although greatly shocked, Kathryn had by some miracle escaped with cuts and bruises, although she remained unconscious for some time after being admitted to hospital.

  John and her mother were at her bedside when she opened her eyes. She blinked uncomprehendingly from one to the other.

  ‘She’s coming round.’ She heard his voice from a long way off—not the harsh contemptuous voice she had come to take for granted, but the soft and lazy drawl she loved.

  ‘Thank God!’ Her mother’s anxious tones now; Kathryn smiled at her, then put a hand to her head. Bandages?

  ‘What...? Where ...?’ She uttered a great sigh. ‘I remember—’ She sat up. ‘That man! Is he—is he—’

  ‘He jumped clear,’ John reassured her quietly, and gently put her back on the pillow.

  ‘Kathryn dear—oh, are you feeling all right? Are you sure there are no broken bones?’ She asked the question of John; he shook his head.

  ‘There are no broken bones, Mrs. Ramsey.’

  ‘How do you come to be here?’ Kathryn asked. ‘How did they find you?’ She looked questioningly at John.

  ‘The address was in your handbag. The police contacted me right away.’

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘Only a few hours, dear,’ her mother interposed, reaching down to clasp the hand lying on the bed cover. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked again.

  ‘Not too bad at all.’ She paused and as memory flashed she could not suppress a shudder. ‘I went into the lorry—but I wasn’t going very fast by then,’ she added, recalling that the brakes on the small car were certainly efficient.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ John said, and only then did everything return to Kathryn. She had told him about the steering... Her eyes fluttered to his; she saw remorse there, and—concern? Yes, deep concern. That didn’t mean a thing, of course. He would be concerned no matter who it had been, and he would also feel guilty. No, that expression had no particular significance. His opinion of her could not undergo a change simply because of this accident.

  ‘The nurse is here,’ Mrs. Ramsey looked across the ward. ‘I think we’ll have to go.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘The buses run every half hour, so I’ll not have long to wait.’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ offered John, turning as the nurse reached the bed. ‘She’ll be able to come home tomorrow, you said?’

  ‘That’s what the doctor thinks. She’ll have to be kept in bed for a few days, of course, but it’s the shock more than any actual injury.’

  ‘I’ll see she stays in bed, naturally.’ Again that lazy, attractive drawl, but Kathryn frowned. John had said scarcely anything to her, had not even asked how she was feeling. Her mother had, though, so perhaps he considered it superfluous to ask the same question—which of course it was. And yet it seemed to Kathryn that he didn’t want her at the Hall, and in any case she ought to be with her own family. She asked her mother if she could go home.

  ‘I’d be better there,’ she added. Conscious of John’s having given a little start, Kathryn turned her head to look at him. Was it imagination, or was there a trace of hurt in his attitude at her request to be taken to her own home?

  ‘Certainly you can, dear. The girls—they’re still as rowdy as ever, but they’ll just have to do without their transistors and record players for a while,’ she added decisively.

  The nurse left them, obviously giving them the opportunity of discussing these arrangements.

  ‘Kathryn will need quietness, Mrs. Ramsey,’ said John in soft yet inexorable tones. ‘I think she’ll be better in her own room at the Hall.’

  ‘Yes ... well...’ Mr
s. Ramsey’s voice tailed off uncertainly. It was clear she was not intending to argue with the man whom she expected would soon be her son-in-law. ‘The girls are noisy, as I said.’ She looked down at her daughter. ‘John’s right, dear. Much as I’d love to have you at home, and take care of you myself, I do think you’ll be much more comfortable at the Hall.’

  Kathryn’s eyes were again drawn to her fiancé’s face. Did he genuinely want her—or was his conscience troubling him? This latter was the case, she knew, but she made no further request to be taken to her parents’ home and it was arranged that John should come for her after lunch on the following day.

  She sat in the back of the car, cosily wrapped in rugs. Her head was bandaged and so were her arms, but apart from some superficial scratches on her face and legs, she had no further injuries. Immediately on entering the house she went up to her room. A fire had been lighted, more for cosiness than for the heat it gave, for central heating had been installed throughout the house in Mr. Southon’s day. Kathryn had been in bed a mere five minutes when John came up. He stood there looking down at her, so tall and straight, his handsome face clouded, his mouth taut, and yet in no way grim or harsh.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kathryn,’ he said, and she sensed an awkwardness that was completely out of character. It would be difficult for him to voice his regret, she decided understandingly, seeing there was no basic change in his opinion of her. ‘I should have listened to you. I had tried the car out, when you told me of the fault, and it seemed to be perfectly all right. I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘This is all my fault.’

  But Kathryn shook her head and told him gently,

  ‘No, John, it isn’t your fault at all. The car did appear to be all right—I even decided I’d imagined it, because the steering behaved perfectly on my way there. It was on my way back that it happened, as you know.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you’d suspected a fault and I should have listened to you. One can’t afford to have a faulty car on the road.’

  During the next day or two Kathryn had the impression that although John still detested her, still believed all he had heard, he also had some other feeling for her ... a feeling of which he was ashamed. This persisted, being revealed in the way he spoke to her and the way he looked. He was so gentle, and at times even tender. Kathryn would bask in these moods, yet each time she would be jerked back to reality by a sudden harsh word or icy glance of contempt. It was as if John were fighting something; but the more Kathryn thought about it the more impatient she became with herself. The bump on her head must have affected her in some peculiar way, she at last decided, and resolved not to allow John’s changing moods to tease her any longer.