The Blue Sapphire

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘Something had happened; something rather horrid.’

  ‘Yes—well, you can tell me or not as you like. I just want you to feel that if you ever need a friend—someone of your own kind—there’s Alison Brett. If you want to leave that place, and have nowhere to go, you can ring up and say you’re coming. That’s all.’

  There were tears in Julia’s eyes. She said with difficulty, ‘I do need a friend . . . like you.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Mrs. Brett, nodding.

  ‘But you understand, don’t you?’ said Julia hastily. ‘I’ve told you I’m engaged to be married.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ agreed Mrs. Brett. ‘This is between you and me. It’s a woman’s arrangement. It has nothing to do with Stephen—except of course that I should never have known anything about you if it hadn’t been for him. If you come and stay at Gemscoombe, as I hope you will, it will be as my guest—to see me and talk to me. As a matter of fact Stephen may not be there at all unless you come fairly soon, I’m afraid he will be going back to that horrible place in Africa next month.’

  ‘Going back to Africa!’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Mrs. Brett with a sigh. ‘He has got that job, you see. It’s a good job; he likes it and he likes the people. Mr. Sloane the manager is very nice to Stephen so it would be a pity to give it up. I suggested he should get a job in this country, but he says it wouldn’t be nearly so interesting, because all the mines here are fully developed. Stephen likes breaking new ground.’

  ‘It would be nice if he could get a job in this country,’ said Julia in rather a sad little voice. ‘I mean nice for you,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Lovely for us,’ agreed Mrs. Brett.

  Julia happened to be looking at Mrs. Brett when she said this, so she happened to notice that Mrs. Brett was smiling to herself in a somewhat enigmatic manner. Her eyes were exactly like Stephen’s, thought Julia. Grey with little brown flecks in them and liable to twinkle when their owner was amused.

  ‘But of course our arrangement has nothing whatever to do with Stephen,’ said Mrs. Brett. ‘As I said before, it’s a woman’s arrangement. It has nothing to do with anyone except Julia Harburn and Alison Brett.’

  ‘Thank you very very much,’ said Julia holding out her hand.

  Mrs. Brett gave it a little squeeze. ‘What nice hands! Nice long slender fingers! Do you play the violin, Julia?’

  Julia shook her head. ‘Mother tried to teach me to play the piano but she gave it up in despair. I haven’t any accomplishments.’

  ‘But you can speak French beautifully. You were speaking French to Jacques.’

  ‘Oh, languages are easy!’

  ‘Not to everyone. I suppose that’s how you got that job in the hat-shop?’

  ‘Well, not exactly, but it’s the reason why Madame Claire likes me and it’s the reason why the other girls hate me.’

  ‘Hate you!’ exclaimed Mrs. Brett in a startled tone.

  ‘Mrs. Brett, I’d like to tell you about what happened this morning.’

  ‘I was hoping you would. Can we go on talking here . . . or where?’

  ‘Jacques won’t mind,’ replied Julia.

  *

  3

  The restaurant was empty except for themselves, so Julia rested her elbows on the table and without more ado proceeded to tell her new friend about the little pair of gilt scissors. She had them with her in her bag, so she produced them and laid them on the table.

  ‘Perfectly charming,’ declared Mrs. Brett taking them up and examining them with the air of an expert. ‘Eighteenth century, I should think—probably French. Quite valuable.’

  The story took some time to tell, because such a lot of things had to be explained if Mrs. Brett was to understand it properly (and it was quite useless to tell it at all unless it was thoroughly understood); but Mrs. Brett was an admirable audience, listening carefully and occasionally asking a question.

  By the time Julia had finished, Mrs. Brett had a complete grasp of Julia’s problem, and, curiously enough, Julia herself understood it much more clearly.

  When she had finished there was silence while Mrs. Brett thought about it.

  At last she said, ‘Will you be able to bear it, Julia?’

  ‘Not if it goes on,’ replied Julia without hesitation. ‘Madame said they would get over it in time. Do you think she’s right?’

  ‘You may be able to win them round—I’m sure you could if Madame were sensible—but meanwhile it will be very unpleasant for you. Oh dear, I don’t like it at all!’

  ‘I suppose I could find some other job,’ said Julia thoughtfully. ‘The trouble is I’m rather an idiot, completely untrained, and I can do this job rather well. Quite honestly I’m good at selling hats, and it interests me. It seems so foolish to give it up. What else could I do?’

  ‘Yes, I see. Well, perhaps you should go on trying for a bit, but you needn’t worry about getting another job. If you find you can’t bear it you must let me know and come to Gemscoombe. I mean come and stay until you’re married. It would be delightful to have you for as long as you like.’

  Julia was about to reply to this extremely kind and obviously sincere invitation when Jacques approached the table, and apologising profusely, began to explain his difficulties in rapid French. He was devastated to be obliged to disturb the two ladies in the middle of their obviously so important conversation, but what was he to do? The waiter had gone home and he himself must commence his preparations for dinner. It was therefore necessary that the restaurant should be closed, the blinds drawn down and the door shut. He did not want to hurry the ladies (it would be unpardonable), but perhaps in about ten minutes, if that were possible. . . .

  Julia replied that she understood perfectly and ten minutes would be ample time for the conclusion of their conversation.

  ‘We’ve got ten minutes,’ she said to her companion, smiling apologetically.

  ‘Yes, I gathered that much. I can understand French fairly well if they don’t talk too quickly. Unfortunately they usually talk much too quickly.’

  ‘Would you like to come home with me?’ asked Julia, who was unwilling to part from her new-found friend. ‘I mean to Miss Martineau’s. It isn’t very far, and you said you would like to see her Victorian parlour.’

  ‘Not to-day, I think. For one thing I must go back to the hotel and rest (Town is so noisy and bustling, frightfully tiring for a country cousin), and for another thing I don’t want anyone to know we’ve met. I’m sure Miss Martineau is very nice. She sounds an absolute pet. But she talks a lot, doesn’t she? If Stephen happened to call and see you, as he did before, she might happen to mention that she had met his mother.’

  Julia was obliged to admit that this was so.

  ‘It’s like this you see,’ explained Mrs. Brett. ‘Harry and Stephen are both under the impression that I came to Town to buy a hat. Men are so dim, aren’t they? Very clever in some ways, of course, but fortunately very very dim in others. You would never believe that I would come all the way from Devonshire to London to buy a hat, would you?’

  Julia giggled.

  ‘No, of course you wouldn’t,’ nodded Mrs. Brett. ‘You have only to look at me and you can see I’m not that sort of person. Harry has lived with me for thirty-two years but he believed it, and so did Stephen. They teased me about it—but very kindly. Harry gave me fifty pounds and they both came to the station and saw me off. They’re perfect dears, both of them. I wouldn’t be deceitful, of course,’ declared Mrs. Brett. ‘I’ve bought a hat and I’m very pleased with it, so that’s all right. I wouldn’t be deceitful for worlds, but when you live in a house with men you’ve got to have your own little secrets. You simply can’t tell them everything. You see that, don’t you, Julia?’

  ‘The truth and nothing but the truth, but not the whole truth,’ suggested Julia.

  ‘How well you understand!’ exclaimed Mrs. Brett with a sigh of relief.

  The ten minutes respite was now over,
so they gathered up their gloves and bags and emerged into the sunlit street.

  ‘Don’t forget what I told you,’ said Mrs. Brett.

  ‘I’m not likely to forget,’ declared Julia.

  They kissed each other affectionately and parted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Julia thought a great deal about her conversation with Mrs. Brett; it had given her a feeling of safety. She had been wondering what she could do if Ivonne and Fifi continued to be so unpleasant, for she knew that if she were obliged to leave Madame Claire’s it would be very difficult indeed to get another post, and although she had money in the bank it would not last for ever. Would she have to go home with her tail between her legs? Horrible thought! There was Morland of course, but Morland would advise her to go home. He had done so before and would do so again. Some day she and Morland would be married, but not until he had got his partnership, and when would that be? Julia was quite determined not to press Morland to ‘fix a day,’ as Retta had advised. She would marry Morland, but not until he wanted to marry her.

  All this had worried Julia, but now there was no longer any need to worry, for if things became too difficult she could ring up Mrs. Brett and go to Gemscoombe. She could stay there as long as she liked. Yes, Mrs. Brett’s invitation had given Julia a nice safe feeling. She had liked Mrs. Brett immensely and Mrs. Brett had liked her; that was evident. Mrs. Brett had said that she and Julia were the same kind of people . . . she could not have said anything nicer.

  On Sunday afternoon May suggested that she and Julia should have an outing together.

  ‘We might go to Kew,’ said May thoughtfully. ‘The flowers will be nice just now and you can get a good tea at the restaurant.’

  Julia was delighted at the idea of an outing with May (custom had not staled her infinite variety). ‘Yes, let’s,’ she said. ‘It will be fun. I haven’t been to Kew since I was a child.’

  Usually May rested in the afternoon, but she had decided that poor darling Julia must be feeling dull without either of her young men, so she had suggested the expedition to amuse her. However, she soon discovered that Julia was not dull; quite the contrary.

  ‘You’re in very good form this afternoon,’ said May as they alighted from the bus at the entrance to the gardens.

  ‘Yes, I’m happy,’ Julia agreed. ‘You see, I was a bit worried about something, but now I needn’t worry any more.’

  ‘I suppose it’s because your young man will be coming home from Scotland soon.’

  ‘No, not exactly—there was something else—but of course it will be lovely to see Morland again. I feel as if he had been away for months.’

  Of course May was dying to know what the ‘something else’ could be, but she did not like to ask.

  ‘Months and months,’ continued Julia thoughtfully. ‘I feel as if Morland had been thousands of miles away . . . at the North Pole or somewhere like that. It’s because so much has happened, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the reason. Time is funny, isn’t it? Sometimes it tears along like mad and sometimes it crawls like a snail.’

  ‘And not always because you’re happy or unhappy.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed May. ‘But it always crawls if you’re waiting for someone and watching the clock. Have you noticed that, dulling?’

  Julia had noticed this strange phenomenon.

  Julia and May were good companions; they strolled round the gardens admiring the flowers. Neither of them knew very much about flowers, for both had been born and bred in London, but that did not prevent them from enjoying their beauty and fragrance. Julia commented upon this fortunate circumstance and May agreed.

  ‘Look at those!’ May exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what they are but they’re lovely, aren’t they?’ She pointed to a bed of small bushy plants bearing enormous blossoms; some were deep pink, others were white as snow.

  They stood for a few moments looking at the unknown flowers in delight and watching an elderly gentleman who was examining the labels and making notes in a little book.

  ‘He knows all about them,’ whispered Julia reverently.

  ‘Yes, but he likes the labels best,’ replied May with one of her fat chuckles.

  There were dozens of children running about the gardens; some were wearing little frocks or suits but most of them were in scanty bathing costumes and were enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on their naked limbs. Julia envied them and said so.

  ‘Yes, it would be nice,’ nodded May. ‘But people would be a bit surprised if they saw me turning somersaults in my birthday suit. Oh dear, I’m tired and hot,’ she added.

  Fortunately they were not far from a restaurant, so they went and sat down under a large coloured umbrella. May ordered tea and cream buns and Julia ordered a glass of iced lemon squash.

  The expedition was so successful and they had enjoyed themselves so much that they agreed to come again soon. It was only afterwards that Julia remembered she would not be able to take part in another expedition to Kew because Morland would be home next Sunday and would take her out in his car.

  *

  2

  Several days passed without anything very important happening, but Thursday was eventful, to say the least of it. To begin with, Julia’s alarm clock failed her so she was very late in waking. She had no time for her usual bath but washed and dressed hastily and ran downstairs flustered and upset.

  May was standing in the hall. ‘Oh, there you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was just coming to see what had happened.’

  ‘The clock didn’t go off, that’s what happened. I’m terribly late.’

  ‘Never mind, dulling. Breakfast is all ready, so——’

  ‘I haven’t time for breakfast.’

  ‘But you must!’ cried May in consternation. ‘You can’t go to work without having something to eat!’

  ‘I’ll just have a cup of coffee,’ declared Julia. ‘I haven’t time for anything else, and anyhow I’m not a bit hungry.’

  May followed Julia into the dining-room. She had a letter in her hand.

  ‘Is the letter for me?’ asked Julia as she poured out her coffee.

  ‘Yes, but it isn’t from your young man,’ replied May turning it over and examining it carefully. ‘It isn’t from your father either, because it hasn’t got a foreign stamp. I can’t make out the postmark, it’s quite a long word beginning l-e-d, and it’s been forwarded from Manor Gardens. Who is it from, I wonder.’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Julia crossly.

  ‘Funny spidery writing,’ added May as she handed the letter to it’s owner.

  Julia took it and put it in her bag.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ asked May in a disappointed tone.

  ‘I haven’t time.’

  ‘But it may be important!

  Julia took no notice; she was annoyed with May. Although she had decided that it was nice of May to be interested in her affairs, it was aggravating to see one’s correspondence handled and examined and commented upon before one had had the chance to look at it oneself. . . . Julia already was out of temper, and this seemed the last straw. She drank a cup of coffee hastily, collected her belongings and fled.

  It was almost nine o’clock when she arrived at Madame Claire’s establishment. Madame had begun to arrange the hats with her own hands and was extremely cross at having to perform the unaccustomed task.

  ‘What do you think I pay you for?’ exclaimed Madame. ‘Do I pay you eight pounds a week so that I may have the pleasure of doing your work myself?’

  Julia did not reply. It was unfair of Madame to be cross; Julia was not late. Madame was cross because Julia was not early. . . . But everything was unfair this morning, thought Julia as she put on her overall. Everything was horrible. . . . It was absolutely disgusting to think that she would have to spend all day selling hats. She was sick and tired of the job.

  There had been no time to read the letter, of course, but she had seen at a glance that the w
riting on the envelope was completely unknown. It was not from Morland nor from Stephen; not from her father nor Retta nor from any of her friends. All through that morning while Julia was selling hats she kept thinking off and on about the letter.

  Presently Julia began to feel a little queer; she had risen in a hurry and had had no breakfast; she had been flustered and upset. That had passed now, leaving her in a strange dreamy condition which was not unpleasant. Fortunately by this time she was so used to selling hats that she could have sold them in her sleep.

  Who can it be from? thought Julia as she put on a little bonnet of twisted straw trimmed with ox-eye daisies and turned to display its beauties to one of Madame’s clients.

  ‘It’s very pretty. Do you think it would suit me?’ asked the client eagerly.

  ‘You could try it,’ suggested Julia, smiling dreamily and thinking how lovely it would be if the letter were from a fairy godmother.

  ‘Yes, I’ll try it,’ said the client.

  Oh, I hope it’s from a fairy godmother, thought Julia as she arranged the little bonnet on the client’s stringy hair and presented her with the hand-mirror.

  ‘It doesn’t look quite the same,’ said the client in a disappointed voice.

  This was true, of course. ‘No, it isn’t quite your style,’ agreed Julia. ‘Let’s try this blue one; I think it would suit you better.’

  She arranged the blue hat on the client’s head. (A fairy godmother, she thought. Perhaps she wants me to go with her for a cruise in the Mediterranean . . . or possibly to the South Seas. How lovely it would be to get away from everyone and everything!)

  ‘Yes, it’s rather nice,’ said the client. ‘The only thing is I didn’t really want a blue one. I might try that white one over there, or the one with the pansies.’

  Although aware that neither would be the slightest use Julia fetched them at once. The client tried them on, hesitated for a few moments and then discarded them. She tried on several other hats—all quite hopeless—and eventually decided to have the blue one.