The Waiting Room Read online

  “Of course,” I told her. I opened the door and waited while she eased herself into the low seat, and pulled in her walking stick. I went around to the other side. “Comfortable?”

  She grunted. “Very cramped, isn’t it? I like to see comfort in a car. Nowadays all they think about is speed.”

  “I don’t drive very fast.” I turned out of the lot and slid through the traffic lights back onto Bridge Street. “Is there anything you want to stop for?”

  “No, I just want to get home again, if you’ll be so kind.” I felt her looking at me. “You staying long?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I ought to get back to Allanby—”

  “You stay, my girl!” She cackled unexpectedly. “You stay. Time there was somebody sensible in that house.”

  I stiffened. I waited until we were across the Broadway and running up the hill toward the Beacon Road; then I bit back my temper and asked, “Sensible?”

  She nodded, rustling the feathers of her impossible old hat. “Yes, sensible. Not like that rattle-pated cousin of yours. Oh, I know! I shouldn’t say these things! I’ve never been a woman to choose my words. She’d have ruined that practice, would Madam Pullar.”

  “You think so?” I was quite furious with her, and when a truck suddenly jammed on his brakes in front of me on the crest of Beacon Hill, I was angry enough to swerve out to pass, instead of using my common sense. I managed to miss the blue Walsall bus that was approaching—but the passenger door scraped the truck’s wing and flew open, and a moment afterward I was pulling frantically in toward the bank as Mrs. Tarsh slithered ungracefully onto the road.

  I was very fortunate. Although she was white and shaken, with her rouge making dark patches on her cheekbones, she had done no more than twist her ankle. It was swelling already. When the disapproving truck driver had helped me to get her back into the car I drove straight for the surgery, with her wheezing, “Oh dear, oh dear,” at intervals all the way.

  Fortunately Alan’s car was out in the driveway. I left Mrs. Tarsh in the Metropolitan and ran in to find him. When he had finished the phone call he was making he turned to me with raised eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

  “Mrs. Tarsh,” I told him. “I gave her a lift and we had a bit of an accident. She’s twisted her ankle. She’ll probably sue and—” I snatched the clean handkerchief showing in his breast pocket and blew my nose. “I feel such a fool.”

  “It would have to be Mrs. Tarsh, wouldn’t it? Life’s like that. Where is she, the old besom?”

  “Out in the car. Will you have a look at her?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to! All right, don’t worry. I expect she was doing a bit of back-seat driving.” He ran down the steps ahead of me to the car. While he was looking at her ankle I rescued the groceries and handed them to Mrs. Cox. “You’d better cope with the lunch,” I told her. “I may have to take Mrs. Tarsh home.”

  “If you do you won’t be back for a month of Sundays,” she warned me. “Talk the hind leg off a donkey, that one. You don’t want to encourage her, Miss.”

  The ankle wasn’t so bad as I’d feared, and Mrs. Tarsh was a good deal smoother when Alan had charmed her; she’d even agreed that I should drive her home. “But don’t you do such a thing again!” she told me. “I’m an old woman—I can’t stand these upsets!” All the way to the big house alongside the reserve she was being sorry for herself. “I’m a silly old woman,” she kept repeating, and sniffing into her lace handkerchief.

  “My fault entirely,” I said. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Tarsh. If there’s anything more I can do to...”

  She turned her head stiffly to look at me. “Yes, there’s one thing you can do. Come and have tea with me tomorrow. Come and talk to me. I don’t have many people to talk to, you know. Everyone seems so busy lately.”

  “I’m afraid they are. I ... Thank you, I’ll try to come.” There was nothing else I could do to make up for my own stupidity. I resigned myself to it. It was not until I had helped the chauffeur to get her into the high Victorian drawing room that I realized how lonely she must be.

  She sat back on the old-fashioned sofa and pointed with her stick to the dark oil painting over the fireplace. “My husband,” she said. “A very fine man. Did very well for himself. Began with nothing and made a fortune.”

  “He must have worked very hard,” I commented. And Joshua Tarsh gloomed down at me, one hand on a family Bible, and the other thrust into his coat. “He must have had a lot of character.”

  She nodded. “That’s it. Character. Grit. How many young men have it nowadays? Not many! Though I don’t know...” she mused, “I don’t know that Dr. Pullar hasn’t his share.”

  “Dr. Pullar?” I was sure she meant Dr. Murray. “Why?”

  “Because he isn’t afraid of me, for one thing! Not like Dr. Murray. And because he’s not had an easy life.” She stopped and tightened her mouth. “I’ll say no more about that.”

  “No, don’t,” I said hurriedly. “I must go now. I’ll do my best to come tomorrow afternoon.” After I told the chauffeur about the compresses for her ankle, I went straight back to Simon’s. I was just in time to have lunch with the others.

  Alan had already told Simon what had happened. He looked up as I entered. “Did you hurt yourself, Lanna?”

  “No.” I sat down opposite him and pulled my plate nearer. “Simon—I’m frightfully sorry about the car. Of course I’ll pay for the repair. It’s just the door, and—”

  “Oh, damn the car!” It was a long time since I had heard him speak so sharply. “It can easily be put right! It was you I was worried about. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  I put down my fork and stared at him. “Of course! I only hope Mrs. Tarsh won’t make too much fuss, that’s all.” I looked down at my plate again and began to play with the chop Mrs. Cox had cooked. “I had to promise to go to tea there tomorrow, to appease her.”

  “Tomorrow? Friday?”

  “That’s right. Do you ... do you mind, Simon?”

  “Oh, no. Makes no difference to me. But I wouldn’t stay too long, Lanna. She’s a very demanding woman.” He was looking strained again, I noticed.

  When he went up to his room I glanced across at Alan. “What was wrong with Friday?”

  “Simon’s half-day, that’s all.” He smiled kindly. “I imagine he had plans: he was talking about getting tickets for a show.”

  “Was he? Oh well, I could be back in time. How nice of him!”

  “Do him good.” Alan pulled out his old pipe. “He ought to go out more, the old stick-in-the-mud. He was a bit nervous about it, asked me if it was quite proper, afterwell, you know. I told him it would be good for him and that nobody would see him, and if they did they would realize he was merely escorting you.”

  “He ... he doesn’t talk about Midge much, does he?”

  Alan shook his head slowly. “Not to me, Lanna. Nor you?”

  “No. It’s queer. I had it in my head that he wanted me here so he could get things off his chest. Natural enough, if he did. But it isn’t like that. He seems to avoid mentioning her.”

  “I know.” Alan lit his pipe and broke the match in his fingers. “But you see, he was like that before he lost her. It isn’t anything new.”

  “They weren’t happy, were they?” It was no good, I couldn’t eat. I pushed away my plate. “Were they, Alan?”

  Alan didn’t want to commit himself, but I looked at him hard until he did. “Not very,” he said. “They were pretty badly suited, in my view. Only it isn’t my business, Lanna.”

  “I know, it isn’t mine, either. But I’m trying to understand what goes on in Simon’s head; why he’s so odd.”

  “Don’t try.” Alan put his hand down on mine on the table. “Suppose you get a cup of coffee down and stop trying so hard?” He was perfectly right.

  “One thing,” Mrs. Cox said as we washed up together, “it’s not as bad as it might have been. You do seem to be able to get on with old lady T
arsh. My! You should have heard the way she talked to the mistress!” Her gooseberry eyes opened wide. “Didn’t think much of her goings-on, I can tell you.”

  I thumped the tea towel down on the draining board. “Mrs. Cox! Haven’t you any loyalty?” I was trembling. “I don’t know how you can talk to me like this about Mrs. Pullar! Even if you can’t remember that she was the doctor’s wife, you might at least remember that she was my cousin!”

  She went on rattling the plates in the suds. “I don’t hold with pretense,” she muttered.

  “No,, neither do I, Mrs. Cox. But I do hold with common decency!” I stalked out and left her to finish alone.

  Both the men were out and busy for the rest of the day, and it was not until Simon and I walked upstairs together, at eleven o’clock, that we had another chance to talk. He leaned against the wall outside my door and folded his arms.

  “Lanna...”

  “Yes?”

  “An hour of Mrs. Tarsh will be more than enough for even you. After tea, will you come out with me? I feel I need a change.”

  “Of course, Simon. I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”

  He flipped the tickets out of his top pocket. “I managed seats at the little theatre place, the Crescent. They’re doing an oldie, I’m afraid—Blithe Spirit. Can you face it?”

  “You know I can,” I said warmly. “And I’m sure it’s what you need. What time do I need to be back?”

  “Oh, sixish’ll do. I’ll wait for you here, shall I?”

  “Or I’ll meet you there, if you like. You might like to go on up to town earlier?”

  He thought about it. “Well ... if you wouldn’t mind, Lanna. There are one or two things I really ought to do. And you could get on a bus right outside Mrs. Tarsh’s house; I’ll have my car in town with me. Would you mind doing that?”

  “Of course I don’t mind, noodle,” I assured him. “I’ll do that with pleasure. How do I find the theater?”

  “Get off the bus in New Street, Birmingham. That’s the terminus, anyway. Walk straight along to the Town Hall and then ask a policeman or somebody. It’s not far. And I’ll see you inside in the little bar affair. All right?”

  “All right, yes,” I nodded. “Thanks, Simon. It will be a welcome relief after Mrs. Tarsh!”

  “Good night, Lanna.” He leaned forward suddenly and bent to kiss my forehead. “Bless you.”

  I was too shaken to move. He was in his room with the door shut before I could turn to open my own door. Maybe I was a little old-fashioned, I told myself. People nowadays kissed more freely than they used to. It didn’t mean a thing. All the same, it was quite sometime before I fell asleep, thinking about it.

  Mrs. Cox had a huge shopping list for me on Friday morning. I blinked at it. “I shall never get back in time for lunch. I’d better have it in Walsall, Mrs. Cox, hadn’t I? Or I shall have to go back again afterward.”

  “You have it out, Miss. Both the doctors will be out, too, because it’s tonsil day down at the Cottage Hospital, and that’ll delay them. There’ll only be me here and I can have eggs.”

  “Good,” I said. “And then I can go to Mrs. Tarsh’s when I get back.” I checked in my handbag. “I think I’ll have enough money.”

  “Didn’t the doctor give you any, Miss? He must have forgotten! Did you use your own money yesterday, too?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “It doesn’t matter. When I run out I’ll ask him for some.”

  I was worn out by the time I had shopped for all the things on Mrs. Cox’s almost illegible little lists. I found all the restaurants full and went into the George for a late lunch. When I came out, Mrs. Tarsh’s Rolls was in the parking lot. I sat in the Metropolitan and waited until Johnson came back with a pile of white cardboard boxes from Pattison’s.

  He smiled over the top of them. “Cream cakes, Miss,” he explained, “And muffins. ‘Be sure to get plenty of cream cakes,’ Madam said, ‘and muffins.’ For you, Miss!”

  “Heavens, and here am I trying to diet!” I said. “How is she?”

  “Much better, Miss. I made her stay in bed till the doctor had been. He says there’s not much harm done. Only she worries, you know. Thinks that if she goes to bed she’ll never get up again. You know how they are at that age.”

  He piled his boxes into the Rolls as I drew away, and saluted. I chuckled at the way he spoke of “that age.” He wasn’t very much younger than Mrs. Tarsh himself.

  I only stayed at Simon’s long enough to unpack the car and put it away and to change into my other suit. While I was dressing, Mrs. Cox tapped at the door. She held out an envelope. “The doctor left your theater ticket, Miss, in case anything delayed him. He said to go on in, if he was late.”

  “Oh? Thanks.”

  “Yes, Miss. And ... and he said you were to use the coat.”

  “The coat? How d’you mean?”

  She looked at her feet, and then back at me. “The fur, Miss. Mrs. Pullar’s. It’s on the big bed, Miss. He put it out for you.”

  I was horrified. “But I couldn’t! He must be—”

  “He was very particular about it, Miss. Too cold, he said for you to be without a fur. And he said to be sure and tell you it was what Mrs. Pullar would have wished, Miss. She never wore it more than twice, you know, Miss. She never liked it.”

  I suppose it was illogical of me, but the fact that Midge hadn’t liked the thing instantly made me feel quite differently about wearing it. It no longer seemed bad taste. After all, if it was something she had felt impersonal about, there was no need for me to feel queasy about wearing it.

  I went along to the big room and brought it back. Mrs. Cox was still standing there. It was a beautiful coat—gray squirrel, as soft as a dream. And it fitted me perfectly. But I took it off again and laid it doubtfully on my bed. Then, glancing up, I saw Mrs. Cox’s face. “But that isn’t the one!” she said. “That’s never the one. I’ve never seen that one. Mrs. Pullar’s wasn’t squirrel; it was lamb. Not unless he got her this one lately and she never wore it.” I had never seen it before, either. And it certainly looked like a new coat. “I can’t use it,” I decided suddenly. “I’d feel very uncomfortable in it. Take it away again, Mrs. Cox; I’d rather not be tempted.”

  I got into my own old black cloth coat and walked up the road to Mrs. Tarsh’s. The first buds of spring were showing yellow green in the trees, and the birds were chattering in the pale thin sunlight. I would have liked to go back for the key to the private gate and walk on the grass, but there was no time. Another day, I promised myself, I would do just that. I hated leaving the fresh air outside to be shut in Mrs. Tarsh’s drawing room, with all its windows closed and a huge fire glittering on the conglomeration of Benares ware and ugly china. But if it was the price I had to pay for her injury, it had to be faced.

  We went through all the motions. She even had her tea kettle on a little spirit lamp, and the muffins in a silver dish.

  She talked. How she talked! Mostly about Joshua and then a little about her daughter. She didn’t mention her son. And I sat there and let it flow over me, hardly listening. It was doing her good to let it all out, I decided. I had my own problems. She couldn’t have known how little I had actually taken in, because when I got up to go she said, “My dear, I have enjoyed talking to you. What an interesting afternoon! You must come again. Will you?” I nodded. “Next time remind me to tell you about my Aunt Charlotte. You’ll be so interested.”

  After making her ankle comfortable on its cushioned stool, I let myself out. Johnson had the car outside on the drive. “I’m to take you, Miss.”

  “No, Johnson, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m catching a bus into Birmingham—I’m not going back to the house.”

  “I know, Miss. The doctor told Mrs. Tarsh this morning. ‘Don’t you go keeping her late,’ he said. And the mistress said, ‘I’ll send her into town with Johnson.’” He held open the door. “You wouldn’t want to get me into trouble, would you, Miss?” He winked at me.

>   The Rolls was old, but it was still magnificent. I was overtaken with a wild impulse to wave my hand from side to side, as we struggled slowly through the traffic on the Birmingham Road. And I felt a queen indeed when he handed me out, outside the aging houses of the Crescent. The Rolls fit right in with the peeling Regency buildings. “Enjoy yourself, Miss,” he told me. “Saw it on the telly myself. Very nice.”

  There was no sign of Simon in the narrow entrance hall or in the coffee rooms or in the tiny bar; and rather than mingle with strangers I made my way to my seat, buying a program to read while I waited.

  It was only then that I remembered the theme of the play; my face burned at the thought of it. Simon was being remarkably tactless. To offer me a coat he had bought for Midge and to expect me to wear it to watch a comedy where a first wife’s ghost returns to taunt her remarried husband and mock his second wife was in just about the poorest taste I could imagine.

  The seat beside me was still empty when the curtain went up. And then, a few moments later, Alan Murray crept into it. I stared at him and mouthed, “Where’s Simon?”

  He put his lips close to my ear. “Mrs. Palin hemorrhaged.”

  I frowned. “But she was your patient,” I whispered

  He leaned across again. “I know. But he insisted. Sorry if you’re disappointed.”

  I smiled to tell him I wasn’t, and we sat back to watch the play. As soon as the curtain fell for the first intermission I got up. “You stay if you like,” I told him. “I’d rather go.”

  He smoothed my coat over my shoulders and smiled. “There isn’t any evening without you, foolish person. I’ll take you back.” He had brought the Metropolitan instead of his little sports car. It was the last straw. As soon as we drew away from the pavement I burst into tears.