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Audrey’s head, which had been feeling increasingly woolly for several days now, had turned to mush, throbbing and sore. Her throat hurt. With aching fingers, she unbuttoned the top of her nightgown. Her chest was covered with a spotty rash. “Damn and blast,” she whispered, borrowing one of Siegfried’s favourite expletives.
“Audrey?”
As though she’d summoned him, he knocked at her door. Despite the ache in her head, her throat, her fingers, she smiled to herself. In the weeks since the end of the war, they’d taken slow, measured steps in their relationship. They’d shared their feelings, they’d shared kisses – though she rather wished they hadn’t, now – and they knew where they were heading.
Another knock, louder. “Audrey?”
“Siegfried,” she croaked.
He opened the door, a worried frown on his face. “My dear,” he started.
“Don’t come any closer,” she said, as forcefully as she could with a throat that felt like sandpaper. “I’m infectious!”
He looked at her carefully. Then he crossed the room decisively, sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand.
“You really mustn’t,” she said, though the coolness of his touch was a balm, “I’ll make you ill.”
“Audrey, my dear, given that I have kissed you several times a day for the last week, I think that ship has sailed.” He brushed her hair back from her forehead and smiled at her, that deep, loving look in his eyes that she had come to treasure.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He grinned at her, amused. “I’m not. Do you know what it is?”
She sighed. “German measles,” she said reluctantly.
“How very unpatriotic of you,” he said with a smile. “The least you could have managed was British ones.”
“Menace,” she said, without bite.
“I’ll call the doctor for you. And then I’ll bring you up some breakfast. Will you be all right here for a little while?”
“Not breakfast, just tea. Please. And something for my head.” It was pounding painfully now.
He nodded. “I’ll delve into your medicine cabinet.”
His hand withdrew and she closed her eyes. She heard the floorboard by the door creak, and added, “Don’t break anything, Siegfried.”
The only answer was a chuckle.
She slipped into a fitful doze, woke again to the light chink of china.
“Your tea,” Siegfried said as she blinked at him. “Shall I help you sit up?” He didn’t wait for her to reply, but grasped her carefully and pulled her gently up, wedging the pillow behind her so she could lean back against it. One arm stayed around her shoulder and if she’d been herself she knew she would have enjoyed the feel of him, the way his fingers were resting oh so lightly over her nightgown. As it was, however, she had other things on her mind.
“Tea?” she croaked.
He passed her the cup and she took it with fingers that lacked their usual strength. He’d made it just how she liked it and when she sipped she realised he’d added a good spoonful of honey too.
“You’ve learnt,” she said, with a faint smile.
She sipped it down slowly, feeling the honey ease the worst prickles in her throat. And he sat beside her all the while, a comfortable, comforting presence.
The doctor arrived not long after, and Siegfried removed to the end of the bed, A large, friendly looking man, Audrey had met the doctor on a number of occasions, usually when little Jimmy was down with a childhood ailment.
“Mrs Hall,” he said, cheerily. “I hear you have diagnosed yourself with German measles. I’ll give you a quick exam to confirm. Also,” and a bemused expression crossed his face, “as I was crossing the square, the lady from the pub asked me to give you this.” He pulled a tin out of his bag and set it on the bed.
“Shall I?” Siegfried suggested, and opened the tin.
They peered in it curiously, then Audrey laughed for a moment before it turned into a cough. “Biscuits,” she said when she’d recovered herself. “How kind.”
Audrey let the doctor poke and prod her, staring into her mouth and taking a quick look at the rash on her chest, while Siegfried stared forcefully at the wall.
“Your diagnosis was quite correct,” he said, when Audrey was fumbling her buttons together again. “German measles. Bed rest for you for a week, but I shouldn’t anticipate anything particularly serious. You’re fit and healthy. Though do keep the children of the household away.”
“Jimmy won’t like that,” Siegfried said. “He’s very fond of his Aunty Audrey.”
Audrey lay back in the bed, feeling exhausted at the faint exertion. “He’d like German measles even less.”
“Indeed,” the doctor said. “I’ll see myself out, Mr Farnon.” And with that he was gone.
Audrey slipped down in the bed and Siegfried helped her get her pillow just so. “Thank you,” she said, tiredly.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said, worried, as he stared down at her.
“Then off you go to work. I’m sleepy and I’m sure you have plenty to be getting on with.”
“Grrr,” he said.
She managed a faint smile. “Off with you now, Siegfried. Come and see me later.”
He bent over her. “I love you,” he murmured, and pressed a fleeting kiss to her forehead.
“And I love you. Now,” she smiled up at him, “go to work and let me sleep.” She relaxed into her pillow and her eyes were shut almost before he’d left the room.
“There you are,” a quiet voice said as she blinked slowly into awareness. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she said, quiet and ruefully.
Siegfried smiled at her. “I’ve brought you some more tea. And some other things.” He gestured and Audrey moved her head carefully and took in the room.
“You’ve been picking flowers?” she asked, confused.
He knelt by the bed and stroked her hair gently. “Not me.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “These are from an assortment of farmer’s wives. They thought flowers might help cheer you up while you’re stuck in bed.”
“Oh.” She frowned. Her head was too mushy to make sense of it. One thing filtered through. “Tea?”
A strong arm around her shoulders helped her up. “Thank you.”
“Aunty Audrey!” Jimmy’s high-pitched cry broke through her restless sleep. Her door was open and he stood in the corridor, peering through.
“Don’t come in, love,” she said, loud as she could manage.
He nodded. “Mum says you’re sick and you have to be in…” his forehead creased in thought, “qua-ran-tine.”
“That’s right.”
“I brought you something to help you feel better.”
Suddenly, something was pitching through the air at her and before she could wriggle her arms free of her blankets, it hit her in the face. Something soft. Woolly, in fact. She picked it up. “Jimmy! You’re giving me Mister Baah?” The little sheep had slept in bed with him for years.
“To keep you company while you’re ill. He always makes me feel better.”
“That’s sweet of you love,” she said. She tucked the sheep in beside her.
“But can I have him back when you’re better?” The little boy looked suddenly worried.
She laughed quietly. “Of course. Thank you for lending him. I’m feeling better already.”
Jimmy grinned at her, then scampered off. “Bye, Aunty Audrey,” floated back at her as he tumbled down the stairs.
Audrey tucked herself back up and let her fingers drift into the soft wool of Mister Baah. What a good lad Jimmy was. She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept with a soft toy, but there was something peculiarly comforting about it. And this little toy smelt of Jimmy, and love. She closed her eyes and let herself drift back into a sleep that was, this time, peaceful.
The room was darkening when she woke next. There was a smell of burning floating up the stairs and she wondered what havoc was being wreaked on her kitchen. A soft tread on the stairs, a rap at her door, which had been closed at some point since Jimmy’s visit.
“Come in,” she called as loudly as she could, then coughed with the exertion of it.
Siegfried entered, a small pot in his hand. The smell of burning came in with him.
She eyed him. “Dare I ask?”
“I am sorry,” he said. “I’ve put the pots to soak. They’ll be good as new.” He frowned slightly. “Probably,” he added. “In the meantime, though, I bring dinner.” He lifted the lid on the pot and an aroma filled the room that made Audrey’s stomach rumble for the first time that day.
“But you burnt it?”
“Ah, yes. This comes courtesy of our next door neighbours. It’s possible that they heard some of the chaos of our cooking attempts. They sent this round expressly for you. Chicken soup, I believe.” With the air of a conjuror, he produced a spoon from his pocket.
Audrey smiled. “Help me up, then?”
He put down the pot and spoon and helped her sit up, fluffing her pillows behind her so she could sit upright comfortably.
“I see you’ve got company,” he said, nodding down at Mister Baah as she settled herself.
“Jimmy threw him at me earlier,” Audrey said with a smile. “To help me get better.”
“Good lad. Meanwhile, I could only burn your dinner.”
“Hush,” she said. “And pass me the pot?”
Her fingers shook as she took it from him and she didn’t argue when he held on to it for her, instead picked up the spoon from the side. It was awkward, eating soup in bed and trying not to spill it, trying to concentrate on her meal and not the man in front of her. The soup was good, though. Excellent, in fact, just what her sore and aching body needed, and she finished it in short order.
“Thank them for me, next door?” she said as she dropped the spoon into the empty pot.
Siegfried smiled at her and stowed the pot on her bedside table, then reached for her hands. “I wish I could do more,” he said, caressing her aching fingers with his own.
“You’re doing all I could want,” she said quietly.
He shook his head, but smiled. “It’s kind of you to say.” He stood up, perched himself on the bed beside her and she shuffled over, making space for him. He kicked his shoes off and swung his legs up onto the bed, put his arm around her so that she could lean against him.
“All the years you’ve looked after me,” he said, his fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder. Her heart thumped agreeably at the feel of it. “And this is the first time you’ve needed looking after in return.”
“When Edward…” she trailed off. Edward was the only person who had overset her equilibrium over the years.
She felt him press a kiss to her head. “Even with Edward, and his various sins and escapades, you were always so fiercely independent. Even when I wanted, desperately, to comfort you…”
“He was mine,” she said simply. “And you weren’t.”
“I am now.” His voice was quiet but certain. “Heart and soul, Audrey. I’m yours.”
Tears prickled behind her eyes at the precious words. “Siegfried,” she whispered.
He looked down at her. “And now I’ve made you cry. What a man I am.”
“Silly,” she said, and wiped her eyes. “You’re all the man I could ever want.” The chicken soup had soothed her body. Emotions were making her tired. She sighed. “I need to sleep.”
“Can I stay?”
She leant into him and the comfort of his embrace. “Stay.”
She slept the clock round. At some point he must have left her and she woke up on her own in the morning, tucked neatly under her covers. This time, the rap at her door was Tristan.
“I had it years ago, at school,” he said to her querying eyebrow as he came in. “Half the school went down with it. The matrons had a right time.”
“I bet they did,” she said quietly. Her throat was sore again and speech hurt.
“Honey and water,” he said, putting a mug carefully on her bedside table. “I remembered it helped when I was little. How are you feeling?”
“Been better,” she said, with a tiny smile. “How’s the kitchen?”
Tristan laughed. “All fine. We spent all night clearing it up while Siegfried was up here with you.”
She felt the blush rise on her cheeks.
“You do know we’re all so happy for you both?” Tristan said. “I know we haven’t said much. But you deserve to be happy, Mrs H. And if my brother makes you happy…” he finished sceptically.
A tiny laugh bubbled in her chest and turned into a cough. When the cough had passed she felt even limper, but Tristan was there, helping her sit up, helping her take sips of the soothing drink.
“He does,” she said, when she could manage speech again. “So happy.”
“And you do wonders for him. He was truly intolerable, while you were away.” A cheeky grin spread over his face. “I’m happy for the rest of us, that we won’t have to experience that again.”
She shot him a dirty look and he laughed.
“How’s Charlotte?” she managed.
“Very well. She’s sent you flowers.” He glanced around the room. “To add to your display.”
“Kind of her.”
“You’ve been so welcoming to her, Mrs H. Thank you.” And Tris dropped a rare kiss to her forehead.
“Away with you, awful boy,” she whispered, blinking back more tears.
He looked alarmed. “Don’t cry! I’ll be back with your breakfast soon. Siegfried’s cooking porridge.”
Siegfried loose in her kitchen again. She raised an eyebrow. “He’s doing really well, Mrs H! I promise!”
And with that Tristan slipped from her room, leaving her with an aching body but a heart that was very full.
It wasn’t long before Tristan returned, a large bowl of porridge in one hand and a huge bouquet of flowers in the other.
“Charlotte really likes you,” he said, putting them on the windowsill.
“You have good taste in girls,” she said with a smile. “And the porridge?”
“One of Siegfried’s better attempts. It’s not burnt at all.” He helped her sit up, then held the bowl while she ate, carefully.
“It was good,” she said when she put the spoon down in the empty bowl.
“Wonders will never cease, Mrs H.” Tris popped the bowl on the side and smiled at her.
“Tris…” She laid one aching hand on his sleeve.
He glanced down at it and then up at her, raised his eyebrows.
“Tris, won’t you call me Audrey? If Siegfried and I… I’ll be your sister in law…”
He stared down at her hand and then held it, carefully. “I… the thing is…” He rubbed his face with his other hand.
“What is it?”
“It’s… what you are to me. I feel like… sometimes…” he swallowed, then said all in a rush, “you’re like my mum. I loved my mother, of course, but all the years you’ve been here, looking after me… I’ve not missed having a mother because… I have you.”
“Oh, Tris,” Audrey breathed. “Oh, love.” She reached for him, cupped his cheek with loving fingers.
“I can’t call you… it would feel wrong.”
“Come here,” she said, and moved into her arms and she hugged him tight. “I couldn’t love you more if you were my own boy. You call me whatever you want to call me, Tris. I’ll be happy.”
She stroked her fingers through his short blonde curls. “Though you might have to make Mrs F of it, some day.”
“He’s asked you, then?” His voice was muffled against her nightgown.
“He will,” she said, quietly certain.
“I’m glad,” he whispered.
She slept again, after Tris had left. His words had set a warm glow in her heart, one that she fancied could beat back German measles all on its own.
An unexpected bark woke her and she blinked blearily. It wasn’t Jess or Dash who was at her bedside. She blinked again, wondering if her illness had made her hallucinate.
“Hello, dear,” a voice at the door said.
She tore her eyes from the dog and looked up. “Mrs Pumphrey?” She looked back at the dog. So it really was Tricki.
“I won’t come in, dear. I just wanted to send you our love and best wishes.”
“How… how very kind of you.” Tricki barked again and she looked down at his waving tail. “Thank you, Tricki.”
“We’ve left a hamper in the kitchen,” Mrs Pumphrey continued. “A few little treats that might help you feel better.”
“Thank you,” Audrey managed again. “But… but why?”
“You’ve been very kind to us, over the years.” Mrs Pumphrey looked stately as she pronounced it. “Time for us to repay you, a little. Now, we’ll leave you be to rest. Come, Tricki!” And Mrs Pumphrey vanished as suddenly as she’d arrived.
Audrey relaxed back into bed and wondered if the entire interlude had been a fever dream. Surely Mrs Pumphrey hadn’t stood in her bedroom doorway! That was entirely too strange an occurrence.
Her head was beginning to pound again when Siegfried appeared with a tray. “Lunchtime, my dear. Courtesy of Mrs Pumphrey, this time.”
“So she was here. I was beginning to think I’d imagined it.” She rubbed her head.
“I brought you some tea too, dearest.”
“That sounds good.” She managed to sit herself up, drank a cup down gratefully.
“Pork pie, ham, cheese…” Siegfried cut them all up into tiny pieces. “She’s spoilt you,” he said, a soft smile on his face.
“I can’t think what I did to deserve it,” she said, taking a tiny piece of pork pie.
“Which says a lot about you.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead. “I have to leave you, I’m afraid. A rush of animals in surgery. Eat as much as you can. One of us will get the tray later. Is there anything else you need?”
“Some more of Tristan’s drink?” she asked hopefully.
“Your wish is his command,” Siegfried said with a smile.
The day faded on. Tristan arrived with his honey drink and took away her lunch. She’d eaten more than she thought she could; Mrs Pumphrey’s treats certainly were very moreish.
James smiled at her from the corridor, on his way past with Jimmy. He and Helen were being very careful not to spread her infection to their children.
She dozed until Siegfried arrived with her dinner. “Dinsdale sent this over,” he said, placing a tea tray carefully on her lap. A beautiful cottage pie, as good as she made. Her mouth watered.
“You’re looking brighter,” Siegfried noted, with a smile. “I might have to learn how to cook.”
“You definitely should,” she replied absently as she dug into her dinner.
When she’d finished her dinner – every scrap, Siegfried cleared he plate then came back with a book. “If you’re feeling up to it, I thought I might read to you?”
She smiled at him. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
He joined her on the bed and she leant into him, enjoying his arm around her and the comforting rumble of his voice as he read.
She slept well that night. Siegfried had slipped out as she drifted off, brushing a kiss to her head as he did so. And when she woke in the morning, she was feeling more like herself than she had done since she’d found the rash. If it hadn’t been for the children, she’d have got up. But she couldn’t risk infecting them, so she stayed in bed, demanded and received her knitting, and another day passed quietly. More treats from people across Darrowby arrived and she was perplexed and grateful.
“I don’t understand,” she said to Tristan when he brought up a slice of cake from Joan, the post lady.
“I know,” he said, and squeezed her hand.
“Why?” she said to Siegfried, after she’d finished her dinner, delivered by another farmer.
“Do you remember what I said to you, all those years ago?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve said a lot of things to me, over the years.”
“You care about people.”
“Oh yes.” She thought back. “There was a qualifier to that, wasn’t there. But I still don’t see.”
“You’ve cared about so many people in Darrowby. You’ve showed love and kindness to so many of us.” His voice was soft. “Especially me.” He cleared his throat. “This is you being repaid for all of that, finally.”
She swallowed. “Oh.”
“Tristan told Maggie, the morning you fell ill. And she told other people. Do you know what they’ve all said, when they’ve come around?”
“No,” she whispered.
“That you’ve been there for them. This is their turn to show you the kindness you showed them.”
She sniffed. “You make me sound like some kind of saint,” she said, voice choking with emotion.
Siegfried’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “The patron saint of Darrowby.”
“Ridiculous man.”
He chuckled and settled himself beside her. “I’m glad you finally know how many people care about you.” He kissed her head and she sighed and leant into him. “I can’t wait to have you back downstairs, bossing us all around. I’ve missed it.”
She laughed. “I have too.” She looked at his dear face. “I love you, Siegfried.”
He sighed happily. “I love you, darling girl.”