by Jane Arbor
This was Sarah’s cue. She said innocently, “Oh, about the house, I suppose?”
“What else? When you phoned for an appointment this morning I guessed you’d be wanting us to do something about it for you. We can, of course.”
“So I’ve gathered!”
Dick looked startled, then a trifle ashamed. “Oh! Do you mean that Mansbury has been to see you already? Why, I mentioned it to him only yesterday afternoon!”
“He was with me by dusk,” Sarah told him drily.
Dick brightened. “You mean he made you an offer and you’re coming to terms? Now that’s pretty sensible of you, Sarah. He, or rather that cousin of his, Mrs. Beacon, is crackers on getting Monckton to add to Greystones. And as obviously you’ll want to be rid of it, it’s a perfect arrangement all round.”
Sarah frowned. “Stop rubbing your hands, Dick!”
“I wasn’t!”
“Metaphorically you were, with satisfaction. And counting your chickens. But you needn’t do either. For I’m not coming to terms with your Mr. Mansbury or with his precious cousin.”
“That’s all right, Sarah,” soothed Dick. “They’ll put up their figure if you stand out for what you want. We’ll see to all that for you, anyway.”
Sarah took a firm but patient grip upon herself. After all she hadn’t so far been quite frank with Dick; she hadn’t yet told him why she was determined to hold on to Monckton.
“I don’t want you to ‘see to’ anything for me, Dick,” she protested. “I’m keeping Monckton for my own use.”
“But Sarah! The place—why, it’s practically prehistoric! I thought I was doing you a kindness by trying to get rid of it for you!”
How like Dick that was! He wrapped you about in a cloak of solicitude and good advice and then looked hurt when you gasped for air. Not wanting to wound him, Sarah said gently, “I know, Dick. You meant well. I admit I came here this morning meaning to tear you apart for telling this Mansbury I was ‘sure’ to sell, but it’s all over now. You’re forgiven.”
Dick’s pencil point described a wide arc upon his blotter. “If you say so, as far as the firm is concerned, it is,” he said slowly. “But about Mansbury, I don’t know that he’ll be disposed to take ‘No’ so easily. I’m afraid I gave him the idea the place was practically his for a reasonable offer, and they want it so badly that they’ll try to tempt you until you give in.”
“Let them. I need the place too and I shan’t give in. Anyway, here are the works. You probably know already that I’m fully qualified in nursing now, and I’m going to renovate the house and run my own children’s Convalescent Home there. What do you say to that?”
“Say?” Dick grinned. “Well, first that your legacy must have gone to your pretty head; second, that, stiff with qualifications as you may be, you’re not much more than a babe yourself; third, that in hanging on to Monckton just for the hell of it, you can’t have a clue as to what you’re taking on or turning down. That house, Sarah, do take my professional word for it that it just would refuse to pay, it really would.”
“It’ll have to pay,” she said stubbornly. “It’s my only asset, apart from the small income Great Aunt Lydia left me as well. But I’ve got a few savings; I can surely get a grant from the Council to help me to convert, and once it’s done in a modest way, I shall be earning as I go.”
She was startled into silence as Dick flung down the pencil with an exclamation of impatience.
“You’re a mutt,” he said bluntly. “You sit there, looking utterly charming and so patently sure of yourself. Whereas I don’t suppose you’ve taken advice from anyone at all about this scheme of yours.”
“Just from people who understand the need, and believe I could do it, given the premises and the clientele,” Sarah put in sweetly. “The Matron of my late hospital, for one.”
“Pah! How do you know she hasn’t some axe to grind? If she saw Monckton, she’d soon change her tune! No, what you need, Sarah my girl, is someone behind you, someone to protect you from yourself and—and from mad ideas like this one!” exploded Dick.
“But I don’t need protecting!”
“All women need protecting at some time or another,” was his maddening reply.
“Not when they’re as able as I am to look after myself, thank you.” Sarah’s tone was dry, though at the back of her brain was recorded a tiny prick of suspicion that, however small her need, a woman would always be ready to accept the protection of one man. But that was something she could not say to Dick. And today she was on the threshold of doing work she loved in her own way. She was about to become her own mistress. How could he expect her to need shelter and protection at anyone’s hands?
Dick sighed. “Well, I suppose determination goes a fair way,” he admitted. “Tell me, how far have you got with this idea?”
“Not far where the house is concerned. But before I came down I began to pave the way towards getting the necessary permits and what-not, supposing the place should prove convertible. I’ve also roughed out some advertisements and I’m to be put in touch with ‘possibles’ by Matron.”
“When would you plan to open?”
“Soon after Easter I’d hope. Could the house be ready by then, do you suppose?”
“You’ll be lucky! But there, it shall be if you want it. Leave it to me.”
Sarah laughed. “How did I guess? I’ve had to run to you for help after all!”
Dick threw her a swift glance, gratified by her appreciation that, for all her vaunted independence, there were some things he could arrange better than she. But he was conscious of a stab of deeper feeling. He knew that if he saw much of her in the days to come he was going to want to serve her more and more. When they were children she had always wanted her own way, refused to be urged into his. But protest and disapprove as he might, he had always craved to help her and they both knew very well she would never look to him in vain.
He rang for his secretary and stood up. “Well, Sarah, what about lunching with me? We can talk things over.”
“I’d love to,” agreed Sarah.
From the lobby beyond his office where he went to fetch his coat, he called to her, “As a matter of curiosity did Mansbury mention a figure they would pay?”
“I didn’t let him get so far. I made it quite clear I wasn’t considering a sale.”
“Well, for your curiosity he talked to the tune of seven thousand or so to me.”
If Dick had been seeking an effect, he should have been fully gratified by her gasp of surprise.
“Seven thousand, for a house in Monckton’s condition?”
Dick came back, shrugging into his coat. “I thought that would stop you in your tracks,” he grinned. “Look what you could do with all that lolly somewhere more suitable, instead of burdening yourself with a place that will only prove a white elephant and a millstone round your neck. Anyway, will you reconsider?”
Sarah stood up, drew on her gloves.
“No.” she said stoutly. “A millstone shaped like a white elephant will at least be novel neckwear. I’ll not reconsider!”
It was about a fortnight later, when the last of Great Aunt Lydia’s possessions had moved out and, thanks to Dick’s influence, the first of the decorators had moved in, that Sarah had another caller from Greystones, announced by Martha while Sarah was watching the electricians at work.
She needed no telling who her latest visitor was. For the groomed, statuesque figure of the Matron of Greystones was already familiar to her. Daily Mrs. Beacon was to be seen, driving her car, walking in her garden or speeding departing patients from her door, but this was the first time she had appeared to glance in the direction of either Monckton or of Sarah.
Today she gave the merest lip service to an introduction of herself, then came directly to the purpose of her visit.
“Do I understand, Miss Sanstead, that you refused to consider selling or leasing this house to my cousin on the grounds that you hoped to open it as some kind of child
ren’s Home?”
Sarah’s hackles rose to the hostility of the tone. “Not ‘hoped’—I mean to do just that,” she corrected, putting her intention firmly into the present tense.
“But even if you could get a licence, which I very much doubt, surely you appreciate that I could raise the strongest possible objections to your doing it here?” the other woman snapped.
Sarah said smoothly, “In fact, my licence is already in train. And I’m afraid I don’t see why you believe you have any right to object, Mrs. Beacon?”
“Then I must tell you. Firstly, this is a purely residential district and mine wouldn’t be the only voice raised, I assure you. Secondly, my Nursing Home enjoys one of the highest reputations outside London and I haven’t the slightest intention of having that jeopardized by the opening of a Home for children right next door to my premises.”
“Mr. Mansbury’s premises, I understand,” murmured Sarah provocatively.
Mrs. Beacon’s eyes flashed. “Split hairs if you must,” she retorted, “as long as you understand that the Nursing Home at Greystones is my professional property and concern, and that if you insist on your right to go through with your own scheme, I shall fight it all along the way. Do I make myself clear?”
Sarah agreed, “Perfectly, though I don’t understand your attitude at all, I’m afraid. A private Convalescent Home—I plan mine just for under-twelves; a private Nursing Home; the two next door to each other in a quiet road; what harm could either do to the amenities of any residential district, can you tell me?”
“We are not,” said Mrs. Beacon loftily, “discussing ‘either’. Greystones is established, needed and an asset to the neighbourhood, whereas a Home for small children here can have nothing but so much nuisance value. But don’t mistake me, please. As a trained nurse myself, I shouldn’t dream of denying the need of children to convalesce after illness. It is simply that I cannot allow you to destroy the amenities of Greystones by importing a lot of very small children immediately next door. What’s more, even for your own future’s sake, Miss Sanstead, surely you would find better opportunities and more suitable property for conversion elsewhere?”
“But I don’t happen to own property elsewhere,” Sarah pointed out. “Monckton is mine and is convertible and surely the fact of my getting a licence is proof that there is an opening here?” She paused, then added shrewdly, “Forgive me, won’t you, for wondering just how much your own and your cousin’s objection to my plans is due to your wanting to buy or lease my property from me?”
“There is no connection at all between the two matters,” the older woman retorted. “You have refused to sell, though Mr. Mansbury would still make it fully worth your while. But this project of yours is something else; something for legitimate protest from us.”
“But does Mr. Mansbury share your protest?” put in Sarah. “When he found I wasn’t selling, he wished me success.”
Mrs. Beacon bridled. “As a matter of form he may have done. But I think you can take it that we see eye to eye. Not, really, that our agreement or disagreement is any business of yours, do you think?”
“As much, surely, as your interference in my affairs?” returned Susan. “And now, as you’ll understand that I’m very busy...”
Mrs. Beacon took the broad hint intended. But she could not resist a parting shot. “I still think that, for your own sake, you should have met my cousin half way and been willing to open your Home elsewhere. His help and influence might have been very valuable to you. As it is...”
There was a threat in the unspoken words, and when she had gone Sarah knew with misgiving that where she might have hoped to find friends and good neighbors, in Mrs. Beacon at least she had made an enemy. And, in Oliver Mansbury, had she made another?
CHAPTER TWO
SOON after Easter Monckton’s more necessary alterations and decor were finished and Susan was hoping to welcome her first batch of small guests by the end of the month.
During that spring she had learned the value of having Dick Finder untiringly on her side; he was always coming up with practical suggestions and when his secretary rang up one day, asking her to call, she supposed he was eager with just such another idea to help her.
But when she reached Market Chambers he was waiting for her in the outer office and he drew her into a small room instead of taking her to his own.
“Look here,” he began diffidently, “I was afraid you might not come if I told you what I wanted. You see, I’ve got a client in my office, someone I think you ought to see again before you go any further with your plans.”
“Not ...?” Sarah’s figure stiffened in surprised resentment.
“Yes, Mansbury. Listen, he still wants your house and he’s willing to make you a yet bigger offer. All right, I tricked you into coming again to meet him. But that was for your sake. I want you at least to hear what he has to say.”
“But Dick!” Her tone was pitiful in its dismay.
“But what? You needn’t commit yourself at once. He’s prepared to give you time to consider his offer.”
“I tell you I’ve nothing to say to him! But you! Why have you been helping me as you have done, only to turn round now and try to persuade me against the whole thing? You know what it means to me and how far I’ve gone with it. I just don’t understand. You’re, you’re simply letting me down!” Sarah accused wildly.
Dick thrust his hands into his pockets, almost as if to keep them off her. “Don’t be absurd,” he said. “I haven’t turned ‘agin’ you. But privately. I’ll admit, I’ve always thought your scheme pretty hare-brained, launching out on your own in that house, with only Martha to help you on the domestic side and not a skilled soul on the nursing one. And all of it to be done on a shoestring income behind you if anything goes wrong.”
“Then why have you helped me at all? Why haven’t you kept aloof from it, if you feel like that?”
He felt his glance ought to say ‘You should know.’ Aloud he said, “Because—oh Sarah, don’t you see?—because, you being you, I had to do what I could. I couldn’t wash my hands of you. I’ve never done yet and I never shall.”
“Then you were just making the best of a bad job?”
“You could put it like that. I’d prefer to say I accepted facts. That is, until today, when, since he’s my client, I had to contact you again when Mansbury asked me to. But equally I want to do what I can for you because you’re my friend.”
“Well, I don’t believe they want the house as badly as all that.” Sarah was pursuing her own thoughts. “It’s really that they are toffee-nosed about possible noise and nuisance from my babes. They think the Home will ‘lower tone’ for them and their glossier patients. If they can’t get me out, they mean to make everything as difficult as they can. That—that Beacon said as much. Well, I won’t go, I won’t. If they want a fight they can have it!”
“Always remembering that they, established and prosperous, will have the edge on you every time? For pity’s sake, don’t set out in such a spirit, Sarah!” Dick warned.
“It’s a situation that’s none of my making!”
“No? Though from what you’ve told me of your encounters with them, you haven’t been exactly conciliatory.” Dick turned to the door. “Anyway, come and make yourself plain once and for all.”
In his office he showed her to a chair opposite Mr. Mansbury, then went round the desk to take his own.
He spoke to his client, “I’m afraid Miss Sanstead tells me she’s not disposed to consider your offer after all.”
Oliver Mansbury stubbed out his cigarette. “Not even my latest offer?” he queried.
A half-smile curled Dick’s lip. Miss Sanstead refuses to consider any offer for her house.”
“But this is absurd!” Oliver Mansbury turned to Sarah. “Hasn’t Mr. Finder told you that we are raising our figure to ten thousand pounds for the place, and that I’m willing to allow you to occupy it, privately of course, until you find somewhere else?”
> Ten thousand! After her first astonishment at the increased figure, Sarah found her pride baulking at the very size of it. She’d show them! She would show them that she could refuse even this and still make a success of a ‘hare-brained scheme’! As for that man opposite and his crabby cousin, they were going to learn here and now that money couldn’t buy everything!
Uneasily conscious, however, that her pride was bringing out the worst in her, she replied coldly, “Whatever you are offering, I am not selling.”
“Well,” Oliver Mansbury’s tone held mock resignation. With a shrug he rose, looked across at Dick with a smile. “It’s fantastic of course. But I dare say you’ve done your best.”
His air of speaking as if she were a naughty, unrepentant child or even as if she were not present infuriated Sarah. She broke in passionately, “There’s nothing at all ‘fantastic’ about it. I’ve got my career to make and you could both realize that a price for the house is not what I’m looking for. I simply want to be left alone to get on with doing my work in my own way, and in my own property.”
She broke off, knowing that to Mansbury, a stranger, she must sound obstinate for obstinacy’s sake. What she did not know was how her indignation had heightened her color, brightened her eyes and lent animation to her face. Nor did she know Dick was thinking that a Sarah on the point of stamping a slim foot had always been attractive to him, but how would Mansbury take her outburst? Aloud Dick said, “I’m sorry, Sarah, that you feel like that about it, but I’m sure Mr. Mansbury will see you now hear no more about it.”
Across the table the other man had not missed Dick’s ‘Sarah’. His glance at them both held a question before he turned to Sarah to offer,
“Are you going straight home, Miss Sanstead? If so, may I give you a lift?”
