Silent Crescendo Read online

  'No, of course not,' she said cheerfully. 'I'm afraid dinner's not ready, so what can I give you to keep you going—a sandwich and coffee?'

  'Great,' he mumbled, eyes closed. 'Anything.'

  Judith shrugged philosophically as she hastily assembled a cheese and salad sandwich and cut a slice of Honor's fruitcake. She made the coffee extra strong and carried the tray to the other room, where Rob lay sprawled asleep, snoring gently, his mouth open.

  And they say romance is dead, thought Judith acidly. She nudged him awake and Rob came to with a start, hauling himself upright. He shook his head to clear it, blinking his eyes.

  'Sorry, Judith.'

  'You keep saying that, but you don't have to—I understand.'

  'And I appreciate it,' he assured her, wolfing down his sandwich. 'Not every girl would, I know.'

  'I can well believe that! What's the problem tonight?'

  'Richards is still away on holiday, the other two are doing late surgery tonight, and George Bassett, who should be on call, is at his wife's bedside, cheering her on.'

  'Amy's started labour?' asked Judith with interest. 'I'm due in the maternity ward tomorrow. I'll look in on her.'

  Rob looked at her repentantly.

  'I'm so damn tired I haven't told you how delectable you look—come here and give me a kiss.'

  Judith eyed him coldly.

  'Your timing is out, Rob Bailey. I'm no vainer than anyone else, but coming in a poor third after sandwiches and coffee is a bit of a turn-off.'

  'Sorry—no, all right,' he amended hastily, 'I won't repeat myself.' He looked at her hopefully. 'I'm only on until ten. I could come back then.'

  Judith shook her head firmly.

  'By then all you'll be fit for is bed, Dr Bailey.'

  'And I suppose it's no use asking you to join me in mine?' he asked, with the air of someone expecting instant refusal.

  'Dead right, Rob. No use at all.'

  Rob put down his cup and got to his feet, staring down at her moodily. Not very far down—he was almost six feet tall, but Judith stood five feet nine in her bare feet and her wide dark eyes met his steadily, almost on the same level.

  'You don't object when I make love to you,' he said, aggrieved, 'at least, as much as you'll let me. So why won't you move in with me, Judy—'

  'You know why. And don't call me Judy.'

  'I know you say you're not ready. But I don't know why,' he persisted stubbornly. 'Honor lived here alone for years before you left college—she wouldn't object if you moved out, surely?'

  'Probably not, but I would, Rob.' In his present state of weariness Judith had no intention of letting him embroil her in the old, well-worn argument. 'Let's not talk about it now, Rob, anyway. You're dead on your feet.'

  'I'll take you to dinner at the Sceptre tomorrow night,' he promised, and reached out a hand to her smooth, olive-skinned cheek. He groaned as the telephone interrupted them. That's probably for me.'

  It was. Judith left him answering the call and went to dispose of the tray with the remains of his snack. She could hear him answering in a suddenly brisk voice, which meant the medical man was back in control once more. Rob met her in the hall.

  'I'm on my way, Judith,' he kissed her absently, his mind obviously on the patient needing him, and Judith patted his stubbly cheek.

  'Bye, Rob. Take care. See you tomorrow.'

  He was gone without a backward glance, and Judith washed his cup and plate, her mouth wry. She was used to this sort of thing, most of her men friends up to now had been in the medical profession, in one line or another. It was high time she met someone with a career that allowed him to think of other things occasionally. Rob was also very much inclined to talk shop during their time together, and it would be pleasant to have a companion slightly less wrapped up in his own particular calling—if such an animal existed.

  As she was checking up on the casserole the telephone rang again. It was Honor this time.

  'I hope you haven't gone to much trouble with dinner, Judith,' she began, sounding breathless and quite unlike her usual unflustered self.

  'Not in the least,' Judith assured her. 'Where are you eating then?'

  'Here, actually.'

  'At the library?

  'No, no. They let me off early in fact, because Mr Gresham wanted me at Gresham House—I'll tell you all about it when I get home.'

  'Is that where you're dining? Gresham House?'

  'Yes! See you later, must go now.'

  Eyebrows raised, Judith put two slices of gammon back in the refrigerator and began to grill the third. Her dinner partners might have fallen by the wayside, but her own healthy appetite was present and making itself felt. She cheerfully cooked herself a substantial meal and sat down in front of a television play to enjoy it. As she washed up afterwards she glanced up at the kitchen clock, wondering how Honor was getting along at Gresham House, which was a picturesque Palladian building in extensive grounds that bordered the west side of Abbey Park. Its owner, Martin Gresham, had been invalided out of the army a few years before, and now appeared content to administer his estate and interest himself in the affairs of the town. In Judith's opinion it was a pity he couldn't show more interest in the affairs of one Honor Gregg. It was high time her sister gave up being a widow and became a wife again— even a mother. There were no children from Martin Gresham's former marriage, and it seemed more than likely he would want a son to carry on his family name. She sighed. He might not care two hoots about a family, of course, but just the same she would dearly love to see Honor gain her heart's desire.

  By the time the clock struck eleven Judith had trouble in keeping her eyes open. Her body was a beautifully-shaped, perfectly functioning piece of mach­inery, which demanded good food and eight hours' rest in return for the hard work and strenuous exercise its owner expected from it, and normally she was in bed and asleep well before midnight during the week. She yawned, switched off the television and stretched out on the small sofa. Honor was out late so seldom it seemed a bit churlish to go to bed before she came home, and with an effort Judith tried to concentrate on a complicated espionage story, but it was no use. Her eyes kept closing, her full mouth drooped, and with a sigh she eventually gave up and turned her head into the cushion, the book sliding to the floor.

  She came to hazily, as Honor shook her awake in a state of excitement that jerked Judith upright in surprise.

  'Judith, wake up! Judith, what do you think? You'll never guess what's happened—'

  'No, I won't,' agreed Judith, rubbing her eyes sleepily. 'So tell me.' She looked curiously at her sister, who looked almost luminous with excitement.

  'I had the surprise of my life when Martin asked me to come over to the house for dinner,' began Honor, poised on the edge of a chair.

  'So it's "Martin" now!'

  Honor brushed this aside impatiently.

  'All the publicity handouts and posters have to be re­done—that's what we've been doing this evening, or partly—and the printers have agreed to do a rush job—'

  'Hold on a minute! Just tell me why,' demanded Judith, some of her sister's urgency rubbing off.

  'Because, sister dear, Martin has found a replacement to sing Clive Morrison's role in La Rondine!' Honor gave a bubbling, youthful giggle. 'Though "re­placement" hardly seems the right term. Guess who's going to sing Ruggiero? Right here in the William Gresham Theatre!'

  'How do I know?' Judith asked, exasperated. 'Don't keep me in suspense.'

  'Only Rafael David himself!' announced Honor with éclat.

  'Is he the one who appears on television quite a bit?'

  Honor cast her eyes heavenwards in despair.

  'Honestly, Judith, you're the absolute end. Rafael David only happens to be one of the world's leading young operatic tenors, and all you can say is that he's on television quite a bit! Considering how fanatic the parents and I are about music I wonder sometimes where you came from.'

  'Perhaps I'm a changeling!' Judith gri
nned. 'Anyway if the bloke wasn't on television at all I would never have heard of him. I'm hardly the world's greatest authority on opera. But, I didn't mean to prick your balloon, love. It sounds marvellous—Hardwick will be in uproar. When's he arriving?'

  'He's already here. He arrived yesterday. He's taking some time off—overdoing things a bit, I gather, and came to stay with Martin. I actually had dinner with Martin Gresham and Rafael David, Judith, can you imagine it?'

  'What did you have to eat?'

  'Is that the only interest you can summon up, you Philistine?' Honor shook her head, laughing. 'Roast lamb, if you must know, then we worked out the extra rehearsal time necessary and I let the other principals know. Meryl Moore, the soprano, nearly went into orbit from shock. She was still babbling gibberish when I put the phone down!'

  Judith remembered something.

  'Isn't the concert on Monday, Honor! That's only three days' rehearsal. Cutting it a bit fine, isn't it—much I know about it, of course.'

  'Apparently Rafael David considers it more than enough. He knows the role well, the others certainly know theirs, so they just need to get it together.'

  Judith got up, yawning.

  'Well, I'm glad you're glad, love. Especially since you actually crossed the threshold of Gresham Place. What's it like?'

  Honor's eyes took on a dreamy look.

  'Beautiful. Not awe-inspiring; nothing of that museum atmosphere you get in some big houses. It's quite compact really, not as large as I'd expected.'

  'So you had a great evening, Honor. I'm pleased. Was Martin a kind host?'

  'Perfect.' Honor lapsed into silence for a moment, her eyes absent. She looked up suddenly at Judith, who was untying her mane of hair. 'You haven't asked me what he's like.'

  'Well, I know what he's like,' said Judith reasonably. 'He seems like a very nice, charming man—not my type, I'll admit—'

  'I'm not talking about Martin,' said Honor im­patiently. 'I meant Rafael David, fresh from La Scala, the Met, Covent Garden, regarded by some as the finest interpreter of Verdi on the operatic stage!'

  'Well, I've had a glimpse of him once or twice on television when you've been glued to some opera, but I don't remember much about him except that he was dark and foreign-looking, and he wasn't as podgy as the usual run of Italian tenors, I suppose.'

  'I'm sure he'd be overjoyed to hear such enthusiasm,' said Honor drily, 'and just for the record, darling, he's not Italian, but half Spanish, half Welsh.'

  Judith made a face.

  'Pretty fearsome combination—anyway, I'm not so much interested in the ravishing Rafael as how you got on with Martin. Was he nice to you, my love?'

  'Very.' Surprisingly Honor dimpled and looked definitely pleased with herself. 'He rang the head librarian and asked if I could have time off, as he wanted me until Arts Week was over.' Impulsively she flung her arms round Judith and reached up to give her a smacking kiss. 'Now go to bed—you're out on your feet. I'm sorry to have kept you up so late.'

  Think nothing of it,' said Judith airily as they switched off lights and locked up. 'At least you can sleep soundly now with one happy thought in mind.'

  'What's that?'

  'The celebrated Mr David—or should one say Señor—is a dead cert to beat poor Mr Soames into a cocked hat as leading man!'

  CHAPTER TWO

  The two girls saw very little of each other for the next few days, the odd meal snatched together the most they could manage. Honor was blissfully up to her ears in preparations for Arts Week and the concert, and Judith worked part of the weekend as well as her usual hours, all of which proved so hectic at the hospital she had very little energy left over in the evenings, which was unusual. Her normal working day quite often left her tired, but never quite so completely drained. One of her patients, a teenage victim of a road accident, had unexpectedly died during the week, which was a major part of her trouble, leaving her sick at heart at the terrible waste of a life.

  In the two years since qualifying Judith had trained herself to become objective, to keep a sense of detachment, almost a toughness she found was just as necessary as compassion, and at first the contrast between the high academic training required to qualify and the practicalities of actual day by day hospital work with real live patients had needed tremendous adjustment. Usually she felt this had been achieved with considerable success. She was sensible, and she was physically strong, and used her spare time to make sure she kept her body in good shape. The latter was undeniable. Her square-shouldered, slim-hipped body was beautiful, with high, full breasts, a slim waist, and legs that went on forever, as Honor said enviously. She had clear, smooth skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes which sparkled with good health, combined with a straight nose above a generously curved mouth. But for the moment some of the glow was diminished, dimmed. Rob was a little anxious when she declined a drive into the Cotswolds for a meal when he came round on Saturday night.

  'Not sickening or anything, Judith?' he asked at once, running a professional eye over her.

  'No. Just a bit tired. Would you mind if we just sat here and lazed in front of the television, Rob? Honor's out at Gresham House again, or up at the theatre, submerged in all the Arts Week hubbub, so we have the place to ourselves.'

  Rob gave her rather a crooked smile and drew up a chair near the sofa where she lay full length. 'I wish I could interpret that as some sort of invitation, but I know better. What's up? Job depressing you?'

  'A bit. Don't worry, I'll get over it. I'll rustle up something for us to eat in a minute.'

  'No. Stay where you are—I've a better idea.' He jumped up, smiling down into her questioning face. 'I'll nip out and raid the nearest takeaway merchant I can find. Let's have something really sinful and unhealthy!'

  Judith laughed. 'O.K. You're the doctor. We still have the bottle of wine you brought last week, so we'll have a picnic in front of the most mindless programme the box can offer.'

  They spent a pleasant, undemanding evening together consuming butterfly prawns and fried rice and Rob's favourite spring rolls, washed down with wine and followed by slices of a chocolate cake intended by Honor for Sunday tea.

  'She won't mind,' insisted Judith, licking her fingers, 'unless I keep her awake with galloping indigestion. She's floating around on her own personal little pink cloud these days…' She stopped guiltily, not wanting to discuss Honor's secret tendre for Martin Gresham.

  'Because this tenor chap is taking over at the concert?' Rob chuckled. 'The whole town is agog. Apparently there's even a black market in tickets. Gresham could have sold the place out three times over, I hear. Not to me, mind—more the David Bowie type myself.'

  'M'm,' said Judith absently, looking up the television programme in the paper. 'Want to watch the cricket highlights?' She got up to change channels and took the greasy debris of their meal into the kitchen. 'I've got a ticket myself, by the way,' she said as she came back and sat down.

  'What for?'

  'The celebrity concert, of course. Not my cup of tea at all, especially as the opera they're putting on is some obscure piece I've never heard of. Not that I'm exactly wild over the famous ones, either.'

  'The local paper was full of pictures of this chap as Don José, in Carmen. Apparently his is the definitive version of the role, whatever that means.' Rob came to sit beside her and took her hand.

  'I saw someone else doing that in some dreary version on television not so long ago with Honor.' Judith smiled. 'I didn't see much of it, but to me Don José seemed like a knife-slinging wimp in a fancy uniform.'

  'I suspect that's sacrilege to some people, Miss Russell—not that I care! Cuddle up and kiss me; let the doctor make you better.' Rob pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her with determination. Judith let him for a while, doing her best to match his enthusiasm, but it was no use. Try as hard as she could she remained obstinately aware of the arm of the sofa prodding her in the back, the faint lingering aroma of their meal and a definite sharp recoil when R
ob's tongue thrust into her mouth as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of her dress. She drew back abruptly and pushed him away.

  'No! Sorry—I'm just not in the mood.'

  Rob jumped to his feet, flushed and angry, his blue eyes resentful.

  'Just when are you likely to be in the mood, Judith? Shall I make an appointment for Wednesday week, say, or maybe even that's a bit soon for you.' He flung away, thrusting his fingers through his fair hair, staring angrily at the television.

  Judith sighed and got up, putting a conciliatory hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off irritably and reached down for his jacket on the chair.

  'I'm sorry,' she said tentatively. 'I feel a bit under par tonight, that's all'

  'And what will the reason be next time?' he asked bitterly. 'That old standby the headache?'

  'If that's the mood you're in,' she snapped, 'you might as well leave.'

  'I'm going! Perhaps there'll be more congenial company at the club.' He stood glaring at her.

  'Fine. You do that.' Judith stood tall and unyielding, meeting his glare head on, and with a muttered oath young Dr Bailey flung out of the room and charged out of the cottage, banging the door behind him.

  Judith flopped down again on the sofa, annoyed with herself, conscious she had handled the incident rather badly. If Rob's advances had been nipped in the bud a little earlier he would have taken it like a lamb as usual, but an attempt to work up some feeling in herself had only succeeded in working up a great deal too much in him, poor man. He could hardly be blamed for turning vicious. She sighed. A strange sort of week this had been—dating from her collision with the sinister figure in the park, to be accurate. The weird thing had been, underlying the shock and terror, a totally irrelevant awareness of the scent of the man who had cannoned into her with such force. Some microscopic part of her brain had taken time to register a musky fragrance, aromatic, but sharp, as though the heat of his body had mingled with some kind of cologne. Which was utter fantasy, Judith informed herself tartly. The entire incident had taken only seconds, with no time to think of scents. If there had been anything it had probably been the scent of her own fear.