Free High Master of Clere by Jane Arbor Page A

gloomily. ‘ I dare say I can ’ t risk it after all. But as she ’ s going to London for the weekend and wouldn ’ t be available for the twenty-fifth in any case, could we still make it a date, you and I ?’
    But in the shadow of Nash ’ s illness, Verity had no heart for making plans. ‘ I ’ d rather not, Bob, ’ she told him. ‘ Promise you, I mean, and then have to back out. I ’ ve got Nash paralysed again and I ’ m afraid he ’ s very ill indeed this time. Of course he could be better by your birthday, but if he were worse or — Well, you do see? ’ she broke off.
    Bob reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘ Of course, old girl. Forget it. Poor old Noble and Sagacious! But you mustn ’ t lose hope yet, you know. He got better last time and could again. I suppose you ’ ve had Cody to him? What does he say? ’
    Verity told him and he nodded. ‘ One thing you can be sure of—if anyone can save him, Cody will, ’ he said. ‘ May I take a peep at him on my way out? ’
    ‘ I wish you would. You ’ ll find Mother with him, I think. But I won ’ t come with you. I was late back from break, and I ’ ve got a stack of work to get through before lunch. ’
    That morning she was only too thankful to be busy, and during the days which followed only work served to lighten for a time the leaden weight to which she woke each morning, sometimes alert to its cause, sometimes needing minutes to realize ... and remember. Every night in the small hours she slipped into dressing-gown and slippers and went down to Nash, to sit with him, hoping against hope that the small life might not be slipping towards its end.
    Now her coming evoked no ecstatic thumping of the stem, the silken coat was drab and only the liquid velvet eyes loved her in an unswerving faith which questioned nothing, doubted nothing, trusted implicitly still.
    He would still be believing in her up to and beyond the moment of the final coup-de-grace, if it had to come to that. She could only suppose she must be thankful that if the hour came, he would not see her decision as betrayal, and that the aftermath of heartbreak would be hers alone, not his.
    The day and the hour came. One morning, after examining Nash, Mr. Cody did not unpack his treatment bag. He drew Verity aside.
    ‘ I ’ m afraid we ’ ve lost this battle, my dear. The little chap is going downhill fast. But I suppose I needn ’ t tell you that? You ’ ll have realized it for yourself? ’
    Verity nodded dumbly.
    Mr. Cody went on, ‘ He ’ s in no pain, only discomfort. But his pulse is fading, and though I could go on stuffing medication into him, it would only distress him unduly without much hope of result. He has no recuperative strength in reserve, I ’ m afraid. So ? ’ He left the question in the air, her haunted eyes telling him she understood.
    She said, ‘ Yes. Yes, ’ then pleaded, ‘ But not today, please. If he ’ s not in pain—tomorrow? Just to give me a little more time to get used to —’
    Unable to finish, she stopped and busied herself with Nash ’ s blanket. Mr. Cody said compassionately,
    ‘ That ’ s all right. If there ’ s no change for the better—tomorrow. Don ’ t trouble about me. I ’ ll see myself out, ’ and went.
    That was the twenty-fourth of October. Daniel Wyatt, in London since the previous day, would not be returning until the evening, which allowed Verity to accept a thoughtful gesture of her mother ’ s.
    Mrs. Lytton said, ‘ Dear, I ’ m sure Daniel wouldn ’ t mind your not going to your office today. If you could bring any work you have on hand and do it here beside Nash, couldn ’ t I man the telephone for you, in case anyone rings? ’
    ‘ You could, dear, if you would, ’ Verity told her, grateful for both the thought and that on Nash ’ s possible last day she could escape the kindly sympathy of school and staff to which she dreaded findin g cheerful answers.
    All morning Nash slept, oblivious to the