A Brighter Tomorrow - Maggie Ford (thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

She heard his brief, derisive laugh and his mumbled, ‘Most exciting,’ and felt she was losing track of her objective.

‘I shouldn’t think any clubs for women in this area would be to my taste,’ she went on. ‘Of course, yours being in the better part of London, those you meet are of your class – medical men, I suppose. Do I know some of them, their wives, whom we may have invited here for dinner at one time or another?’

‘I expect so, my dear.’ He leaned back while Chambers removed his empty plate ready for the next course.

She waved her uneaten mousse away as Chambers hesitated before swiftly removing it. ‘And would I have met the wives of any of those you’ll be seeing this evening at your club?’ she asked innocently.

Again he shrugged, his gaze idly following the grilled lamb cutlets and assorted vegetables that Chambers was carefully transferring from a silver platter to the warm, gleaming plate she had put before him.

‘Would I?’ Mary prompted cautiously. ‘If you named any you might be meeting there this evening to remind me?’

Unsuspecting, he formed his lips into a meditative puff as he sliced into his cutlet. ‘Let’s see. Wagstaff – you know his wife, I think: Harriet. He’s always there, part of the fittings. The Pulmingtons, George – you know them. Henry Chauncey – I invited them to dinner last summer. Doctor Henk…’

She saw his eyes flicker towards her as he broke off, but she was pretending to help herself to vegetables and cutlets as if not really taking his words in. ‘I really must make myself go out more,’ she said easily. ‘Wrapped up warm, Dora and I could pay a visit to Dickins & Jones, perhaps have tea at a Lyons tea shop. Or, better still, a Fullers tea shop – a far daintier service and beautiful cakes.’

He’d played completely into her hands. Even the way he had cut the name short had betrayed him. She was satisfied. She knew what was in his mind. He would tackle Doctor Henk Deel about his son and this extremely unpalatable young person. The father would bring the boy to heel, put a stop to the relationship, remove his son from here, never to return, maybe even send him abroad out of harm’s way. Would she be in time? Michael would be here tomorrow evening but, having been alerted, would his father prevent him from coming? She would have to act quickly.

Mary got up from the table, her second course untouched. ‘Oh,’ she groaned, holding her napkin to her lips. ‘Oh, dear…’ Bertram looked up sharply. ‘What is it, my dear?’

‘I feel… so strange…’ She let her voice die away, closing her eyes and swaying a little. To aid her collapse she let out her breath until there was nothing left in her lungs. Her husband was a doctor; he would see by the very colour of her cheeks if she were feigning illness. The loss of air to her lungs helped her legs to collapse easily under her, her cheeks turning pale, her face adopting a strained look, mouth open, eyes closing.

He was up from the table in a second, amazingly fast for a portly man, bending over her, loosening the buttons of the tight collar of the black gown she wore.

She felt her hand taken, her pulse being felt for. He’d know instantly that there was nothing wrong with her. She must not overdo it. She gave a little twitching movement, pulling her hand from his and opening her eyes.

‘I feel so sick,’ she stammered as if surprised by it. Seeming to come round, she made an effort to sit up. Now he was merely the concerned husband, kneeling beside her and helping her to sit, supporting her back. ‘I’ve been off my food all day,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not sure I shall be sick,’ she went on weakly, ‘but I just feel… not well.’

‘We must get you to bed,’ he said firmly and signalled to Chambers, who had been hovering helplessly by. ‘Help me get your mistress to her feet. Can you stand, my dear?’

As Mary gave an uncertain nod, a feeble, trembling hand going to her forehead, she felt herself gently helped to her feet by the two people.

‘Can you walk, my dear?’

Again she nodded. ‘I think so,’ she sighed. Forcing all breath from her lungs had indeed made her feel giddy. ‘I think I need to lie down.’

Allowing herself to be helped up the stairs to her room and laid gently on her bed, she lifted her head to Bertram. ‘You won’t go out tonight, will you?’ she implored faintly. ‘I don’t want to be on my own.’

‘Dora is here.’

At the commotion the girl had hurried from the little anteroom attached to her mistress’s room, where she had been having her supper.

‘What can I do?’ asked the girl in partial panic.

Mary ignored her and held out a beseeching hand to her husband. ‘Don’t leave me, dear. I’m frightened.’ This was true and rang in her voice.

‘There’s nothing to frighten you. You swooned, that’s all. Perhaps you are catching a chill.’ He nodded to Chambers. ‘You can go now. Thank you for your help.’

Turning back, he said, ‘Young Dora can use the telephone in my surgery to contact my club if there is an emergency, which I don’t think there will be.’ She having seemed to recover, he’d become brusque and impatient.

‘She is terrified of that machine,’ Mary gasped.

‘She can tell Mrs Jenkins…’

‘No…’ Mary closed her eyes. ‘I feel so odd. Please, my dear, stay here with me. You can – go to your club – any time.’ She let her breath fail her again and saw him nod.

‘Very well,’ he conceded, and turned to the concerned Dora. ‘You may go to bed, child. I shall stay here with your mistress.’

It was hard not to smile. She’d won. By the time Michael Deel’s father spoke to his son she would already have got to