by Anne Weale
CHAPTER THREE
"THIS isn't a picnic@it's a banquet!" dare said, watching Paul unpack the contents of the hamper. They were sitting in the shelter of a sand-dune under a cloudless blue sky, with nothing but the murmur of the breeze in the marram grass and the mournful cry of a solitary gull to disturb them. "There you are, madame, a cup of soup to warm you after your swim," he said, handing her a beaker of fragrant broth. "M'm, delicious! Do you do everything in this opulent fashion?" "I believe in making the most of life. Who knows, tomorrow the sea may break through the dyke and we shall all be swept away." dare removed an inquisitive orange-striped caterpillar which was climbing up her ankle. "That's an unusual philosophy for a countryman, isn't it?" "But I'm not a countryman except by birth. When winter comes you won't catch me plodding through the storm. I have a very cosy flat in Town, where I hibernate until this part of the world is habitable again." "Oh, in a way the winter is the best time," she protested. "Think of the frosty hedges and blazing fires and skating. None of the horrid grey slush and wet mackintosh smell that you get in London." "Think of the icy draughts and the long boring evenings," he parried. "You know, you look like a mermaid in that green bathing-suit with your hair loose. You should always wear it down. It looks far too prim done -up in that schoolmarm bun." "I'm not a lady of leisure," Clare reminded him. "Who would employ me with my hair all over the place?" 42 "Anyone with eyes in their head. David's a lucky fellow. I must get his brother to find me a secretary@ unless you get tired of classifying seaweed and come to work for me." Clare helped herself to a chicken and ham patty. "The 'seaweed', as you call it, is extremely interesting," she said. Paul looked sceptical. "You should be a mannequin, not a secretary," he said. "Nothing I should dislike more," dare said decisively. "A girl I know took up modelling, and after six months she had dropped arches and nervous indigestion, poor thing. It may look a glamorous job, but you have to stand for hours under broiling hot lights with the photographer snapping your head off if you blink. Not for me, thank you." "What about marriage?" he asked. "Or doesn't that appeal either?" Clare laughed. "You say that as if I ought to make up my mind before it's too late." "Not at all. I was wondering how you had managed to evade the happy state so far." "Well, they tell me it's a good plan to fall in love first. Can I have another of those superb patties, please?" "Sorry, I'm a very lazy host. Help yourself. So you haven't been in love yet?" "Not enough for marriage." ' "What was the snag?" "How inquisitive you are!" "Naturally. When a beautiful girl says she has never been in love it has deep psychological implications. I'm intrigued. Have some coffee and tell me all about it." He shifted his position to pass her the cup, and remained beside her, propped on one elbow, the sea-wind ruffling his fair hair. "Now, teH me all.'9 43 She smiled. "There's nothing to tell. It's far more remarkable that you should be unmarried. Are you a confirmed bachelor?" Paul shrugged. "Far from it. I should like a wife to warm my slippers and listen to my troubles. Unfortunately I can't find a girl to take me on." For an instant his face was serious, and dare fancied she saw a shadow of sadness in his brown eyes. "Either they want to reform me@make me work for my living, you know@or else they have their eyes on my bank balance," he added. "Aren't you being cynical?" she suggested. "Merely realistic. There are two kinds of women. The beautiful ones and the good ones. I suppose one of these days I shall have to decide which is the lesser evil@a plain face or a greedy nature." dare watched a steamer moving slowly along the horizon. The tide was going out, leaving shallow pools along the undulating beach. Farther along the. coast there would be crowds and pleasure boats and ice-cream stalls, but here, except for themselves, the shore was tenantiess and very peaceful. "Supposing you found a girl who was beautiful and good?" she said. "Then she would undoubtedly be married already or immune to my blandishments." "I should think you would be wise to choose the plain face," she said thoughtfully. "After all, beauty isn't a lasting asset, and when you like people you hardly notice their faces. Surely it's a person's mind that is important." Paul looked amused. "Maybe, but marriage is not an intellectual relationship. I wonder why women delude themselves that men are interested in their brains. There never was a woman yet who could reason logically. They reduce everything to emotional terms. If a man wants serious conversation he goes to his club or the local." 44 ^^^y@ If he had hoped to rouse her to an indignant denial of this charge, he was disappointed. Clare said calmly, "But aren't you confusing minds with intellects? Clever people aren't necessarily kind or tolerant or humorous. Surely those qualities are far more important than physical beauty or tremendous intelligence?" Then she laughed, brushing away a strand of hair which had blown across her face. "What a solemn discussion for a hot afternoon! I suppose it's too soon after lunch to swim again?" "Much too soon," Paul said lazily. "Let's look for amber, then. Jenny found quite a large piece on the shore the other day." She sprang up, brushing the sand from her swimsuit. "If I'd known you were the energetic type I wouldn't have asked you," Paul complained as he followed her on to the beach. "Degenerate creature! I thought you were going to teach me to sail?" "There isn't enough wind. Here, don't go so fast." He reached out and caught her hand in a light clasp. For a second dare wondered if it would be wise to draw away. She liked him and was enjoying the picnic, but she was not prepared to embark on even the mildest flirtation at this stage. "Don't worry. I'm not making advances!" She flushed. Did her face reflect her thoughts so clearly? "Would you mind if I did?" he asked. "I should be disappointed in you," she said evenly, "That's an odd reaction. Why disappointed?" "Because I don't much like casual philandering." "That's a nice Victorian name for it. Do you suspect me of being a philanderer, then?" She laughed. "Yes, a bit." | "But you aren't a philandering girl?" 45 Clare shook her head and bent to search a patch of shingle.He let go of her hand and lit a cigarette, "You know, you and David are rather alike."' She looked up, startled. "Good heavens. In what possible way?" . _., ."You're both sober-minded types. Puntans. Lite is real, life is earnest." "So it is," dare objected. "All the more reason to get as much fun as you can while you can," he pointed out. "And philandering is part of the fun." His eyes were teasing. She fingered a pebble worn smooth and perfectly oval by the shuttle of the tide. "But doesn't it get stale?" she asked. "Playing at love, I mean. Making a game of something which should be important." . "If you take it seriously you can get hurt, he said dryly."Yes ... but even if you do, it's worth while. It has taught you more about life." It occurred to her that she had never discussed love with a man before@except Hal. In some ways Paul reminded her of her brother. Perhaps that was why, on such a brief acquaintance, she felt at ease with him. He had no reticence, no moodiness, none of the almost hostile reserve which seemed to characterise David LanQQctpr "I wonder why Miss Lancaster is unmarried?" she said inconsequenuy. "She's such a delightful old lady, and she must have been very handsome when she was Paul tossed away his cigarette. "It's rather a sad story. She worked m a mission hospital in India before the war. Apparently she fell in love with a doctor @ an Indian." "Yes, she told me about being in India the other day. I suppose they couldn't marry because of racial prejudices." "I don't think cold shoulders would have worried her," Paul said. "But the chap was married. I gather he was a highly cultured man@took a degree at Cambridge and so forth. But he was married very young, one of those family alliances that are arranged in infancy. Of course in those days Indian women were 'still kept right in the background, so he probably had little in common with his wife. She showed me a photograph of him once. A very handsome fellow with extraordinarily penetrating dark eyes." "How dreadful for her," Clare said softly. "But that illustrates my point. She isn't at all embittered by having loved someone she could never marry. I remember now when she was talking about India her face had a kind of glow@as if something wonderful had happened to her there." They walked for a while without speaking, the girl thinking with compassion of the hopeless love between the young Leonora Lancaster and the Indian doctor, and the man watching her face. Paul Mallinson was an avowed cynic. E
xperience had taught him that women were sly, avaricious, jealous creatures to be treated warily. He sometimes likened them to the ferrets he had kept as a boy. You had only to let your attention wander for a moment and their needle, sharp teeth would bite the hand that fondled them. There were, he admitted, women who were sweet and gentle, but they were invariably as plain as puddings. Yet, watching dare's pale oval face and wistful golden eyes, he wondered if here was a girl who was both lovely and honest. He had recently extricated himself from a stormy affair with an ambitious young woman who, in a flare of unguarded temper, had admitted that she cared no thing for him as a man but was prepared to put up with him because he was rich. After Marcella's provocative brand of charm@subtlety had not been her strong point @he found Clare's apparent lack of wiles very refreshing. "I'm going to fetch my bathing-cap and have another swim," she said. She began to run, her hair tossing on her slim shoulders. "I'll race you," Paul called. He caught up with her as they reached the dunes, and they scrambled up the yielding sand to arrive laughing and breathless beside the picnic things. She was like a child, he thought, her eyes alight with excitement, her cheeks flushed. Yet her mouth, the lovely curve from throat to shoulder and her long slim legs were not childish. His pulse quickened, but before he could touch her she had jumped to her feet and begun hunting in her beach-bag for the white bathing-cap. "Last year I went to Cornwall for my holiday. The weather was terrible. I haven't basked in the sun like this for ages," she said. "Don't get burnt," he warned. "I never burn." She fastened the strap under her chin. "Another week of this sun and I shall be like a gypsy. Aren't you coming?" . A belt of fine shingle led down to the water's edge and dare trod gingerly, biting her lip at the sharpness of the tiny pebbles. "This is agony! I must buy some bathing shoes." For answer Paul picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. In spite of his slim build and indolent manner he was surprisingly strong. "I'm much too heavy for such chivalry," she protested. He set her down, knee-deep in swirling foam, his arm lingering round her waist. Their eyes met and held. "dare...." She shook her head. "No, Paul. Don't spoil it." "A very flattering reaction!" His smile was wry. She touched his arm shyly. "I like you very much. Don't let's complicate things." He watched her wade deeper into the flowing green water and disappear in a neat duck-dive. Presently she surfaced, laughing, shaking the water from her eyes. "Come on. It's as hot as@@" A breaker caught her unawares. Grinning, he dived. The wind had risen and the sky was flecked with rosy wisps of cloud as they sailed back along the creek. "Watch your head!" Paul cried as they changed tack and the boom swung over. Clare had never sailed in a dinghy before, and she found it a wonderfully stimulating experience. The slap of the incoming tide against the bows, the creak of the sail, the smooth motion of the boat, all combined to give her a feeling of freedom and exhilaration. She was sorry when Paul steered the little craft into the sandy channel between the salt-smelling marsh beds and they arrived at their mooring-place. "How about dining with me? It seems a pity to end the day so early," he said as they walked past the boatyard to where his low-slung cream sports car was parked. "Thank you, but I must go back now, r promised to model for Miss Lancaster this evening." "Well, what about coming for a proper sailing lesson tomorrow night?" "I don't know when I shall be free. Mr. Lancaster may want me to work." "You're not playing hard to get, are you?" he suggested. "No, of course not," dare said indignantly. "It's just that my working hours are erratic and I can't make definite arrangements during the week." He nodded. "I'll ring you up, then. Thank you for today."Clare watched him drive off in a flurry of dust, and then walked along the towpath to Creek House, humming softly to herself.He was nice. Under that veneer of worldly cynicism lay the real Paul Mallinson, and she suspected that he was not nearly so casual and disillusioned as he liked to appear. Oh, no doubt he was a rake, but somehow she felt sure that he was not altogether an idle playboy leading a profitless existence in pursuit of pleasure. Or am I letting myself be deceived by his charm, she wondered. Of course his attentive manner and the silent flattery of his brown eyes meant nothing, but a smooth technique could be dangerously insidious. The towpath led to a gate in the hedge of Creek House garden, and dare found the rest of the household sitting on the lawn. David Lancaster was reading while his aunt dozed and Jenny sat on the grass brushing Josh. "Hallo: Did you have fun?" Jenny asked, giving Josh a slap with the brush as he took a playful bite at one of her pigtails. "Were there chicken patties? Paul usually has super food for picnics." "Yes, chicken galore and fruit cake and hothouse peaches'," Clare admitted, laughing at the child's envious expression. ^ "You look nicer with your hair like that, doesn t she, Uncle David?" Jenny said. Lancaster glanced up from his book, his eyes sweeping over Clare's apricot sweater and brief denim shorts. She was uncomfortably aware that with her hair tousled by the sail home and her bare legs she must present an unbusiness-like appearance. 50 "I must tidy up," she said hurriedly, sparing him the necessity of commenting on her appearance. During the following week the village was in a furore of preparations for the Vicarage fete to be held on Saturday afternoon. When she was not busy with her employer's notes, dare helped Miss Lancaster to collect and sort out contributions to the white elephant stall of which the old lady was in charge. On Friday evening they went over to the Vicarage to decorate the stalls. The weather was still hot and the B.B.C. had forecast a heat-wave, so there was little fear that these would have to be transferred to the village hall. While Lancaster tacked a fascia of scarlet crepe paper to the front of their stall, Clare and Jenny fixed up a large painted notice announcing the bargains to be had. Miss Lancaster, a member of the organising committee, was closeted in the Vicar's study discussing final arrangements. Presently Hilda arrived with a box of home-made preserves and bottled fruits for the produce section, Clare laughed aloud at the recollection of a remark Hilda had made that morning. "What's the joke?" Lancaster asked.' "Hilda doesn't approve of having a film-star to open the fete," dare explained. "She told me this morning that it would have been better to get a nice M.P. or a lady of tide." Lancaster laughed. "Who is this girl, anyway? I've never heard of her-'9 "Andrea Ashley? She's quite well known. She usually plays vamp parts." Presently Lancaster put down the hammer and said, "I'm going across to the Trafalgar for a glass of beer. I 51 won't be long." Then, as an afterthought: "Would you care for a drink?" "Why, yes, I would. This is hot work." They crossed the green to the village inn. The parlour was empty, most of the local men preferring the bar. "What will. you have?" Lancaster asked as the landlord put his head through the service hatch. "Shandy? Cider?" "Cider, please." "A cider and a brown ale, George." They sat down on a leather couch and Lancaster lit his pipe. dare wondered if he was annoyed by her acceptance of his invitation. Had he come alone he would probably be in the bar, chatting to the farm workers, perhaps joining a game of darts. The cider was refreshingly sharp. She remembered a West Country saying she had learnt from her father's foreman, a gnarled ..old man with a Somerset accent so broad that visitors could never understand a word he said. "Beer on cider makes a good rider, cider on beer makes a man queer," she murmured half aloud. "Where did you learn that?" Lancaster asked. "From an old man who used to work for my father. I'm afraid he wouldn't have approved of this." She indicated her glass. "The cider in our part of the world comes out of casks and is very much stronger." "So I've heard. How did you come to leave the West Country? I gather you don't like London." She told him briefly of her parents' death and how she and Hal had gone to live with an elderly relative in a sedate Kensington square. "That must have been pretty rough for you." "It was worse for my brother. I suppose girls are more adaptable. Hal loathed it. I think it was partly reaction to those years with Aunt Constance that made him go out to Africa. He had a craving for space." 52 "Yes, I can understand that," Lancaster said. "I remember when I was at boarding school I used to feel hemmed in. If you're brought up near the sea, it gets into your blood." "Have you always lived here, Mr. Lancaster?" He shook his head. "I was bom m British Columbia. My fathe
r was a geologist, and he was on a survey expedition in the Rockies at the time. Normally my mother went with him unless it was particularly tough territory, when she stayed in a village somewhere near the site. That trip seemed to have a jinx on it. My father was killed in a rock fall, and my mother'died when I was bom." "Oh ... how terrible!" Lancaster prodded the bowl of his pipe. "I was sent home to live with an uncle, and when the old chap died he left me Creek House. After I came back from the East, I settled down here." "And.your brother? Did he live here, too?" "No, he was already at prep school when my parents died. He was brought up by some of my mother's relatives." "You're not at all alike," Clare said. Lancaster grinned. "James would thank you for that observation. He's very much the prosperous city man. Well, I suppose we ought to get back to work." Clare realised suddenly that for twenty minutes they had been talking with perfect amity. Lancaster seemed to have forgotten his usual formality, and now, knowing something of his background, she was inclined to revise her original estimate of him as a proud, arrogant man contemptuous of people less self-sufficient than himself. Probably his childhood accounted for his aloof manner. He might even be shy. 53 She spent the following morning helping Miss Lancaster to arrange the wares on the stall. At midday everyone hurried home for an early lunch, as the fete was to be opened at two o'clock. A little while earlier it had been discovered that no-body had collected a baby pig@the first prize in one of the competitions@from an outlying farm, and Lancaster volunteered to fetch it. He returned as the rest of the household were finishing lunch, and Jenny immediately rushed outside to see the piglet, which was squealing protestingly in a wooden crate. "We must leave here by half-past one," Miss Lancaster warned them. "Now, where did I put the raffle tickets? I'm sure we shall be late." She hurried upstairs, muttering distractedly. Lancaster exchanged an amused glance with Clare. "There's more upheaval on the day of the fete than all the rest of year," he said dryly. "Aunt Leo' will be completely exhausted by this evening if she doesn't calm down." "Yes, but she's thoroughly enjoying it all. She and Hilda were in a terrible panic just before you came in. They thought Josh had sneaked off with the cold roast chicken for the platform party's sandwiches." "And had he?" "No. Hilda had put it on top of the kitchen dresser for safe keeping and forgotten it was there. I must change or I shan't be ready in time." On Miss Lancaster's advice dare had decided to wear a dress of apple green organza with a tight-fitting bodice and very full skirt. At first she had thought it would be too formal for a country bazaar, but the old lady had assured her that everyone dressed in their best for the fete, and to wear an ordinary summer frock would be an affront to the importance of the occasion. The green dress, worn over three layers of stiff ruffled petticoats, emphasised Clare's narrow waist, and as she 54 fastened the straps of her high-heeled sandals, she felt satisfied that she would not disgrace the Creek House contingent. "Clare, would you do up my frock, please?" Jenny asked, popping her head round the door. "Oh, aren't you going to let your hair down?" she asked as dare dealt with the row of press-studs. "Do, it looks so pretty." When the child had dashed away, dare paused uncertainly before the looking-glass. Then, with an impulsive movement, she pulled the combs from her chignon and let her hair fall round her face in a soft red-gold cloud. It was certainly more in keeping with the shady picture hat she had bought in Norwich last Saturday, But was twenty-six too old for loose curls? A glance at her watch showed her she had only a few minutes in which to decide. Well, why not? Nobody would be looking at her with Andrea Ashley on the platform. Securing the hat with a long pearl-headed pin borrowed from Miss Lancaster, she snatched up her handbag and ran downstairs, her skirts rustling against the banisters. "Gosh, you look just like a film-star yourself," Jenny said admiringly from the kitchen doorway. "I've brought the car round...." Lancaster, coming in from the garden, stopped short. His blue eyes travelled from her slim ankles up to the broad-brimmed hat shading her smiling face. And dare, meeting his glance, felt her heart miss a beat, and an unfamiliar tingling sensation shivered down her spine. 5S
