Cassandra By Chance

She allowed herself a moment’s comparison of Mr. Campbell and the man before her and was surprised to find that Mr. Campbell came off second best. “I’m sure he’s a very good man and kind.”

“Meaning that I’m not? As though I care a damn what you think, my pious Miss. Darling—going to church in your best hat and probably making the reverend’s heart flutter to boot. You sound just his sort.”

“I’m not anyone’s sort, Mr. van Manfeld.” She picked up her empty basket and went to the door, her voice coming loud and rather wobbly. “It’s a good thing you can’t see me, because I’m extremely angry.”

His voice followed her, still sour. “But I can see you after a fashion. It’s true you’re dark blue and very fuzzy round the edges, but since you assure me that you’re a plain girl, I don’t really see that it matters, do you?”

Cassandra ground her teeth without answering this piece of rudeness and banged the door regrettably hard as she went out.

About the Author

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Cassandra by Chance

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE steamer from Oban drew into the island’s small jetty, deserted and unwelcoming, shrouded as it was in the chilly October rain and buffeted by an even chillier wind from the north. The few passengers it had brought over from the mainland disembarked smartly, bidding each other good-day as they went in cheerful voices which paid no heed to the weather. But the last passenger left the boat slowly, as though reluctant to exchange its shelter for the rain-swept quay. She was a young woman, obviously a stranger, sensibly dressed in a thick tweed coat and high leather boots. She carried a hold-all over one arm and clutched the head scarf tied over her rain-drenched hair with a gloved hand. One of the passengers had carried her case for her; he put it down now beside her with a smile and she smiled her thanks in return, a smile which transformed her ordinary face, so that the man looked at her a second time with rather more interest than he had shown.

‘Being met?’ he asked.

She nodded, ‘Yes, thank you,’ and she didn’t add anything, so that after a moment or so he said: ‘Well, so long,’ and walked away towards the huddle of houses around the end of the quay. Cassandra Darling watched him go and then turned her attention to her surroundings. She was quite a tall girl with a face which her mother had once hopefully described as jolielaide, for her hazel eyes, while of a good size and colour, were fringed with unspectacular, mousey lashes, her nose was too sharp and too thin, which gave her rather an inquiring look, and her mouth, although nicely curved, was far too large. She was almost twenty-three, but seemed older than this, partly because she had formed the habit of screwing her pale brown hair into a severe bun, and partly because she was a quiet girl who enjoyed tranquil pursuits—not that this trait in her character had prevented her from having a great number of friends at the hospital where she had just completed her training, for although quiet, she had a sense of humour and a ready but not unkind wit.

She surveyed the scene around her now with calm eyes. Before her, straight ahead, there loomed a tree-covered hill, presumably quite inaccessible. At its foot, on either side of the village, there were roads, narrow and lonely, each disappearing around the base of the hill. She knew that her sister lived on the south-west side of the island, so it would be the road on the left—she stared at it patiently and was presently rewarded by the sight of a Land Rover belting along towards the quay. It was her brother-in-law; he drew up exactly beside her, got out, embraced her with affection, flung her luggage into the Land Rover, besought her to get in beside him, and almost before she had time to settle herself, had turned the car and was racing back the way he had come.

‘Rotten day,’ her companion volunteered. ‘Good journey?’

‘Yes, thanks, Tom. It seemed to go on for ever and ever, though. Are you and Rachel ready to leave?’

‘Just about. It’s nice of you to come, Cassandra— I hope the kids won’t be too much of a handful.’

‘But it’s just what I wanted to do—it’ll be lovely to have a month or two’s break before I take my midder, and I need a change from London.’

He gave her a shrewd glance. ‘Did they offer you a job?’

‘As a matter of fact, they did.’

‘Ward Sister?’

She went a little pink. ‘Yes—Men’s Medical, but if I’d taken it, I should have had to start straight away and stayed a year at least, and I might have got into a rut and not wanted to do midwifery. I think it’s best to leave, don’t you?’

Her companion swung the Land Rover off the road on to a narrow winding lane with mountains towering to the right of them, and presently, the sight of a loch on their left. ‘Yes, I think you’re wise, and it’s wonderful for us. You won’t be lonely? The children love it, but after London…’

‘I shall love it too.’ Cassandra looked around her. ‘It must be beautiful in the summer.’ She added mildly, ‘But I daresay it’s pretty super at this time of year too—when it’s not raining.’

‘It can be gorgeous. Anyway, the house is pretty comfortable, and I suppose you’ve brought your knitting with you.’

‘Not knitting,’ she assured him gravely. ‘I’m doing a firescreen in gros-point and I’ve brought plenty of books with me too. Besides, there won’t be all that time to spare, will there, not with Penny and Andrew for company. How’s their school?’

‘Excellent. Small, but the teaching is first class.’

‘And the book?’

‘Finished. Here we are.’

The road was running beside the loch now, pushed there by the mountains, and then the loch ended abruptly, leaving only a wild, narrow river in its place, which in its turn opened suddenly into a much larger loch and gave Cassandra her first glimpse of her future home for the next few weeks. The village was very small and scattered, with an austere church in its centre and a few fishing boats drawn up beside the jetty. Its one street contained a single shop, but Cassandra had no chance to do more than glance at it as Tom drove on, out of the village and along a track running up the hillside. He stopped after a half mile, however, turned in through a wide gate and pulled up before a well-built house with a grey slate roof and whitewashed walls. The door was flung open as Cassandra prepared to get out and the two children and their mother came out to meet her.

Rachel was ten years older than her sister and had more than her fair share of good looks, although it was easy to see that they were sisters. She hugged Cassandra with real delight and then held her away to have a good look at her.

‘Lovely to see you,’ she said. ‘You look as though you could do with a holiday, darling. I’m so glad you decided to leave hospital, even if it is only for a month or two—besides, it’s wonderful for us to be able to get away on our own for a few weeks—these brats can’t wait to see us go.’ She smiled at the two children with her and they laughed back at her little joke. They didn’t mind in the least being left with their Aunt Cassandra—she was clever at making things and talked to them as though they were intelligent people and not half-witted kids. Andrew, her nephew, offered a rather grubby hand and grinned at her, but Penny, who was only five, threw herself at her favourite aunt and hugged her.

Indoors there was a roaring fire in the sitting-room. Cassandra had her wet coat taken from her, was invited to take off her boots and her head-scarf, and sat before the blaze while her sister went to the kitchen to fetch the coffee.

‘Anyone interesting on the boat?’ Rachel inquired when she returned.

Cassandra wriggled her toes in the pleasant warmth. ‘No, I don’t think so—there weren’t many people on board and they all melted away. You’re a long way away from everywhere, aren’t you?’

Rachel passed her a brimming mug. ‘Miles,’ she agreed comfortably. ‘But the village is nice; you’ll be absorbed into it in no time at all. You’ve got the Landrover. You’re not nervous of being alone at night, are you? You’ve no need to be.’

‘I’m not—you can’t think how marvellous it’s going to be, going to sleep in peace and quiet without traffic tearing past the windows all night.’

‘She was offered a Sister’s post,’ Tom told his wife as he sat down, and Rachel exclaimed: ‘Cassy, how marvellous for you—you didn’t refuse it because of us, did you?’ She sounded concerned.

Cassandra shook her head. ‘Of course not. I was telling Tom, if I had taken it, I should have got into a rut and stayed for ever and ever. Now I’m free to take my midder when I want. I’ve enough money to tide me over for a bit—besides, you’ve given me much more than I shall ever need.’ She broke off. ‘What do you do when you want to shop—I mean really shop?’

Rachel laughed. ‘You park the kids with Mrs MacDonnell, the schoolteacher. She’ll take them home for their dinner and you collect them when you get back from Oban. You can take the Landrover to the ferry and leave it near the quay and collect it on your way back—I’ve been doing that every few weeks.’

‘Well,’ said Cassandra, ‘I don’t suppose I shall want to go at all—I just wanted to know.’

Andrew, sitting beside her, said suddenly, ‘There’s a village shop—it’s super, you can buy anything there.’

His aunt gave him an understanding look. ‘Toffee?’ she suggested. ‘Crayons, pen-knives, balls of string and those awful things that change colour when you suck them? I’ve no doubt we shall do very well. What time do you leave?’ She turned to her brother-in-law.

‘Tomorrow afternoon. We’ll all go to the ferry and you can drive the kids back afterwards, Cassy. Our plane leaves Glasgow in the evening—we’ll spend the night in London and go on to Greece in the morning.’ He stretched luxuriously. ‘Six weeks’ holiday!’ he purred. ‘I can hardly believe it!’

‘You deserve it,’ remarked his wife. ‘This book’s been a bit of a grind, hasn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘But at least I’ve got the Roman Empire out of my system for ever. I always wanted to write about it, but never again—too much research. The next one will be a modern novel. I daresay I’ll get some ideas for it while we’re away.’

Rachel groaned. ‘Which means you’ll write all day and I’ll have to sit and knit.’

‘I didn’t know you could,’ observed Cassandra.

‘I can’t, that’s what makes it so difficult.’

Tom laughed. ‘My poor darling, I promise you I’ll only take notes—very brief ones.’ He got up from his chair. ‘How about taking Cassandra up to her room?’

They all trooped upstairs, Tom ahead with the luggage, the girls arm in arm and the children darting from side to side and getting in everyone’s way. Her bedroom was in the front of the house with a view of the sea, and if she craned her neck out of the window, the mountains as well. It was most comfortably furnished and pleasantly warm, with cheerful carpeting to match the cherry red curtains and bedspread. She began to unpack with everyone sitting around watching her as she handed out the small presents she had brought with her. They had been difficult to choose because she hadn’t a great deal of money and Tom was able to give Rachel and the children almost everything they could want. All the same, everyone exclaimed delightedly over their gifts and finally Rachel produced one for Cassandra—a thick hand-knitted Arran sweater. ‘To wear around,’ she explained. ‘I expect you’ve got some thick skirts and slacks with you—the children are great walkers and so are you, aren’t you? And there’s nothing much else you can wear here. Have you got some stout shoes?’

For answer Cassandra unearthed a sturdy pair from her case. ‘And my boots, and I suppose I can borrow someone’s Wellies.’

They all trooped downstairs then and had lunch, then did the last-minute packing while Mrs Todd, who came in to help, did the washing up.

The rain had ceased by the time they had finished and Cassandra changed into her new sweater and a pair of slacks, tied a scarf over her hair, and joined her relations for a walk. They went first to the village, where she made the acquaintance of Mrs MacGill, who owned the shop, and on the way out of it, the pastor, an almost middle-aged man, very thin and stooping, with hair combed tidily over the bald patch on the top of his head, and thick glasses. He shook hands with Cassandra, expressed himself delighted to make her acquaintance and hoped that she would go to the Manse one day and take tea with himself and his sister. He added, a little sternly, that he would see her in church on the following Sunday, and walked away rather abruptly.

They were well clear of the village, going along a rough track winding up the wooded hillside, when Tom observed, ‘You’ve made a hit, Cassy—I’ve never known old John Campbell issue an invitation to anyone until at least a month after he’s met them.’

‘Will you marry him?’ inquired Penny. ‘I don’t think I should like that, Aunt Cassandra.’

‘No, well—I don’t think I should myself, poppet, and as I don’t suppose there’s the slightest possibility of that happening, I think I’ll forget about it and concentrate on a prince in shining armour.’

‘So awkward,’ murmured Rachel, ‘the armour, I mean. However did they manage to give a girl a good hug, do you suppose?’

This interesting point held everybody’s attention for some time, it certainly lasted until they had reached the brow of the hill where they were met by a splendid wind and a vast expanse of grey sea and sky.

‘No view at all,’ said Tom in disgust, ‘and it looks like bad weather. We’d better get back, I think. We can go down the other path.’

They got home before the rain, glowing from walking fast, and the sitting-room looked very inviting as they crowded in. They made toast and ate a great deal of cake as well, and drank quantities of tea from an enormous teapot. It was nice, Cassandra reflected, that Rachel had never allowed Tom’s success and money to interfere with the happy home life she had achieved for them all. The house was roomy, well furnished and there was every comfort one could reasonably wish for, but the children weren’t spoilt; there was no obvious luxury, although she knew that Rachel could have anything she wanted and more besides.

She looked with affection at her sister, sitting curled up in one of the armchairs. She didn’t look her age; her pretty face was smooth and happy and contented—she was a dear; since their parents had died, she had, in the nicest possible way, looked after Cassandra, inviting her for holidays when they went abroad, giving her the pretty things she couldn’t quite afford to buy for herself, but only at birthdays and Christmas, so that Cassandra had never felt patronized. She had even contrived several meetings with young men when she and Tom had been living in London, so that Cassandra should have the opportunity of making their acquaintance. But this hadn’t been entirely successful; there were too many pretty girls around for the young men in question to waste more than a polite few minutes with her. Perhaps if she could have been a sparkling talker she might have achieved something, but she wasn’t, and she had never felt quite at ease with them.

She bit into another slice of cake, thinking how fortunate it was that she could repay Rachel and Tom a little for their kindness by minding the children while they took a holiday. They had wanted to go away together for some time, she knew, but neither of them would consider it unless the children could be looked after by someone they trusted. There were no grandparents now, and Tom’s sister, who lived in London, was heartily disliked by his children—that only left herself, and she had been able to say yes when Rachel had written and asked tentatively if there was any chance of her having a holiday and if so, could she bear to spend it looking after her nephew and niece. She had written back at once and offered to stay as long as they wanted her to, glad of the opportunity to get away from hospital life for a little while.

She loved her work, but a change was good for everyone and for the last six months, while she had been working in theatre, she had fancied herself in love with the young Surgical Registrar, who unfortunately, had barely noticed her—an unrewarding experience which she had the sense to know would get her nowhere. Up here, on this remote island, leading a totally different life, she would forget him quickly enough. She sighed, and Rachel asked anxiously, ‘You won’t miss London, darling?’

‘Me? No. Just think of it, six weeks of this— I shall read and sew and cook and discipline the kids…’

A remark which was greeted with delighted giggles from the children, because the idea of their beloved Aunt Cassandra disciplining anyone or, for that matter, being even faintly stern, was just too funny for words. They were still giggling as they led her away upstairs, where presently a furious uproar signified the fact that they were having their bedtime baths.

The weather had changed when Cassandra got up the next morning; the sun shone from a chilly blue sky, turning the sea to a turbulent green and the hills to yellow and red and brown, and in the distance the snowcapped mountains looked as though they had been painted against the horizon. The village was bright and cosy in the sunshine, its roofs and white walls sparkling, its windows gleaming. The sun was still shining as she drove back from the ferry in the afternoon with the two quiet and rather tearful children. The sky was paler now and already dim around its edges where the dusk was creeping in. Cassandra kept up a flow of cheerful conversation all the way home and as she swung the Landrover up the short track to the house, she asked:

‘How about a walk before tea? Just a short one— Bob needs some exercise and so do I. I’d love to go a little way up the hill behind the house.’

They set off presently, climbing steadily up the path which wound through the trees. It was sheltered from the wind and surprisingly quiet.

‘There’ll be mice here,’ said Cassandra, ‘and rabbits and an owl or two, I daresay, and any number of birds—I wish I knew their names. There’s a squirrel.’

They stood still and watched the creature dart up a tree and Bob, the elderly Labrador, who had grown portly with his advancing years, sat down.

‘Draw him when we get home,’ Penny begged her.

‘Certainly, my dear, if you would like that.’ Her aunt smiled fondly at her and added briskly, ‘Shall we go to that bend in the path and then go back for tea?’

There was a gap in the trees at the path’s turn; it afforded an excellent view of the hill above them, and the sun, gleaming faintly now, shone on something near its summit, in amongst the trees. Cassandra, staring hard, saw that it was a window and what was more, there was a chimney besides, with smoke wreathing above it.

‘A house!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whoever lives there? Why, it’s miles away from the village.’

For the first time since they had parted from their parents, the children perked up.

‘That’s Ogre’s Relish,’ Andrew informed her importantly, and waited confidently for her reply, for unlike other, sillier aunts, she could be depended upon to give the right answers.

‘What an extremely clever name,’ said Cassandra. ‘Do tell.’

She watched his little chest swell with pride. ‘I thought of it—Penny helped,’ he added. ‘There’s a man lives there, and one day I heard Mrs Todd telling Mrs MacGill that he relished his peace and quiet, and of course he’s an ogre because no one’s ever seen him.’

His aunt nodded her complete understanding. ‘Of course. Does he live alone?’

Penny answered her. ‘There’s another man there too—he’s old, and he comes to the shop sometimes and buys things, but he hardly ever speaks and Mrs MacGill says he only buys enough to keep body and soul together. Are ogres poor, Aunt Cassandra?’

‘This one sounds as though he might be.’

‘He can’t see.’

Cassandra stopped to look at her small niece. ‘My darling, are you sure? I mean, not see at all?’

Andrew chipped in: ‘We don’t know, but I heard Daddy tell Mummy, he said. “He can’t see, poor beggar.” That means,’ he explained, just in case his aunt hadn’t quite grasped the point, ‘that he’s not got any money—not if he’s a beggar.’

Cassandra nodded; it seemed hardly the time to start a dull explanation about figures of speech, and even if the poor ogre had enough to live on, it seemed a dreary enough existence. She turned her back on the gap, shivering a little. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said.

She took the children down to the village school the next morning and then went back to give Mrs Todd a hand in the house; but Mrs Todd assured her that she needed no help, so she retired to the kitchen and set about preparing their midday dinner. There was more than enough to choose from; she delved into the deep-freeze and settled on lamb chops and by way of afters she made a queen of puddings, adding homemade strawberry jam with a lavish hand and wondering as she did so if the poor ogre really had enough to eat. She found herself thinking about him as she worked; one day soon, while the children were at school, she would climb the path behind the house and call on him—he might be glad of a visitor, but perhaps he didn’t like callers, so it might be a good idea to walk up the hill and spy out the land first. Still busy with her thoughts, she started on a cake for tea, for the chocolate one had been demolished for all but two slices. She made the coffee, called to Mrs Todd to join her and they sat together in the kitchen, consuming the rest of the cake between them. Mrs Todd, Cassandra discovered, was a perfect fount of knowledge; she was told all about the pastor and the pastor’s sister, who according to her companion, was a proper old termagant. ‘No wonder the puir man has never taken a wife,’ she observed. ‘Who’d want to with him, knowing she’s landed with his sister too?’

Cassandra, her mouth full of cake, agreed fervently, ‘And the man who lives in the cottage behind us on the hill?’ she wanted to know casually.

‘Och, him. Now, there’s a tale I could tell ye…’

And never to be told, for the doorbell rang at just that moment. It was the lad from a neighbouring farm who brought the eggs each week; he had to be paid and given a cup of coffee, too, and by the time he had gone again Mrs Todd had no time left to talk. She still had to do the kitchen, she told Cassandra rather severely, and perhaps Miss Cassandra would like to go to the sitting-room or take a walk?

It was almost time to fetch the children from school; she chose to go for a walk, going the long way round to the school and calling in at the shop to buy stamps—Rachel would expect letters.