Free The Quiet Heart by Susan Barrie Page A

definitely not a welcome interruption.
    Jessamy had a habit of creeping into his room like a frightened mouse, and this should have irritated a man of his temperament. He liked bold decisions, decisive behaviour, fearlessness. Alison had earned her first approving smile from him when he sensed that she was not really in awe of him, and despite her external placidity she could stand up for herself and her own private beliefs. Jessamy, with the large, shadow-haunted eves and the fluttering speech, and tiny nervous gestures, was so patently completely in awe of him and filled with a boundless admiration for him and everything he represented that she could easily have aroused contempt in his breast, instead of which he was gentleness itself whenever she was around.
    She loved doing things for him, and would have fetched and carried for him from morning till night if she had been permitted. During the two days and nights when there was a certain amount of anxiety about his condition she was never far from his door, despite the fact that the temperature of the gallery outside it was near to freezing.
    Alison was so afraid that she would catch a chill that she ordered her back to the flat more than once, and Jessamy always went disconsolately, as if she was a favourite hound that was being ordered to vacate its self-appointed place.
    One person who telephoned constantly to find out how Charles Leydon was progressing was his secretary. She wanted to know whether Mr. Leydon was likely to require her services, and when Alison, without making it her business to find out, expressed the opinion that she didn’t think the invalid was up to dealing with anything in the nature of business, and was likely to have his temperature affected by even the thought of it, the secretary very practically arranged for the transference of some of his personal possessions, including extra pairs of his heavy silk pyjamas and another dressing-gown, from his London flat. She also sent flowers and fruit by means of Inter-Flora, and a quantity of books and magazines. Alison promised to keep her informed of her employer’s progress, and received the impression that the charming young woman at the other end—and from the soft, husky voice she was reasonably certain that she was a charming young woman—was quite genuinely concerned about Charles Leydon’s indisposition, and might descend upon them at any time if her anxiety got any more out of bounds.
    Which caused her to decide mentally on a room where she would put her if she arrived unexpectedly, armed with more flowers, fruit and reading matter, as she almost certainly would be.
    But for a week after being ordered to remain in bed Leydon was in no condition to receive visitors, not even if they were very closely related to him ... and it became obvious after the first twenty-four hours that he had no very close relatives. There had been one moment when Alison, alarmed by that fluctuating temperature of his, had wondered whether he had such a thing as a wife, and whether it was her duty to get in touch with her. The secretary satisfied her on that point. There was no wife.
    Then she wondered whether, perhaps, there was a fiancée. The secretary was not so definite about that. She became a little cagey. But she seemed to think the young woman, if indeed she existed, would not be prepared to make the journey to Yorkshire unless the situation got more out of hand, and she was sent for.
    And that puzzled Alison, as the secretary should have been in a position to be a trifle more explicit about the matter. At least she would, or should, know whether her employer was engaged to be married.
    Perhaps, Alison thought, he was contemplating becoming engaged.
    The local doctor came in every day, and sometimes twice a day, and after the first half dozen or so visits he became more satisfied about his patient’s condition.
    “It’s a virus condition,” he explained, “but I think we’re getting the better of it.