by Anne Weale
CHAPTER SIX
"ARE you ready, dare? Paul is here. He's brought you some flowers. Gosh ... what a smashing dress! You look super." Jenny advanced into the bedroom with something close to reverence on her expressive little face. "I wish I were old enough to wear long frocks," she said wistfully. Clare smiled. "Only five more years to go." "Five years is ages. Hilda says we shall all be blown to smithereens before we know where we are. Aunt Leo told her not to be a pessimist. What exactly is a pessimist?" "Somebody who looks on the black side of things." "Well, I don't think she really believes it because she was talking about her pension this morning, and I shall have been grown-up for ages by then," Jenny said reasonably. "Will you be very late coming home?" "I don't know. Not too late, I shouldn't think. Anyway, I'll tell you all about it in the morning." "Perhaps you'll have champagne," Jenny suggested with an envious sigh. "I like your scent. What's it called?" "In Love." Clare gathered up her gloves and stole, and took a final look at her reflection. As Jenny had said, her dress was rather effective. It had been a farewell present from Hal before he left for Africa, and was made of heavy white crepe which clung to her slender hips and fell in soft folds round her ankles. The bodice was draped like a Grecian tunic, held on either shoulder by a pearl clasp. To match the mood of the dress, she had coiled her hair into a classic knot on the crown of her head and bound it with a string of pearls. 84 Catching a speculative expression on Jenny's face, she said, "A penny for them?" "I was thinking it would be fun if Paul fell in love with you. Then you could live here always instead of going away when Uncle David finishes his book." "I don't think that is very likely," Clare said casually. "Paul likes you a lot. Don't you like him?" "Yes, of course. But people don't get married just because they like each other." "I should think he nearly loves you." Jenny wrinkled her freckled nose. "What does epris mean?" she added obscurely. "It's a French word meaning to be charmed by somebody. Why?" "Because Aunt Leo said that Paul was decidedly epris in a certain direction, and I think she meant he was charmed by you." dare had an impulse to tell Jenny that she shouldn't listen to other people's conversation, but then she reflected that it was hardly the child's fault if adults made indiscreet remarks in her hearing. In any case, it was possible that Jenny had got hold of the wrong end of the stick and that her aunt had been referring to somebody else. Nevertheless, the remark had ruffled her composure. Paul was waiting for her in the sitting-room with Miss Lancaster. David had gone out after tea and was not yet back, at which dare felt a certain measure of relief. Although their relationship had. seemed to be more cordial since the day of the second cablegram, she was convinced that he disapproved of her friendship with Paul. Yet although she was glad he was not present to witness their departure, she also felt a tinge of disappointment that he would not see her in her white dress. Paul sprang up as she rustled into the room. "Good evening." With a bow, he handed her a spray of orchids. 85 "How lovely. Thank you." dare was about to pm them to her dress when he said, "No, don't do that. If I'd known you were going to look like a Greek goddess, I would have brought lilies. Put them on your bag. "We'll leave the front door unlocked. Enjoy yourself, my dear. Take good care of her, Paul," Miss Lancaster ^Is^y" drove through the village Paul said, That's a very attractive dress. Did you lead a wild life in m 0@? "Moderately so. I love dancing. Except when the floor is too crowded to do more than shuffle." , , , "The Country Club is fairly spacious, and there s a terrace if the indoor floor gets too packed. It's actually a converted manor-house which the owners cant afford to iTwa^just beginning to grow dusk as he swung the car into the club gateway. The terrace ^Ae^deof&e house was illuminated by strings of fairy-lights. A party of American servicemen and their wives were strolling across the lawn towards the floodlit fountain, and the strains of dance music carried on the still evening air. Paul helped dare out of the car, which was driven away by a uniformed porter, and they went up the steps ^G^evenmg, madam. Good evening, Mr. Mallinson. I've kept one of the window tables for you, sir. The maitre d'hotel hurried forward as they entered the dining-room and ushered them to a table beside tall ^WhiirPauFwas discussing the menu with him, Clare had an opportunity to look around The room was evi. denfly the former drawing-room, and several fine tapestry panels hung on the walls. Above the handsome fireplace, now banker with flpwers, hung a full-length portrait o a girl in a white satin crinoline, but it was too far away for Clare to be able to decipher the lettering on the gilt plaque at the base of the frame. The soft light from two crystal chandeliers was reflected from the crisp damask ^table-cloths, and each table had a flower design in a silver dish. "What a delightful room," Clare said, when Paul had concluded a consultation with the wine waiter. "I thought you would like it. What is more, they have a first-class Swiss chef and an excellent cellar." "Do the owners still live here?" she asked. "No, they've moved into the lodge by the gates. The. upper rooms are used for private parties, and I believe the commanding officer of one of the American air bases has a flat in the west wing. As a matter of fact, I looked over the place about three years ago when they were trying to sell it. It was in a pretty bad state then, and they couldn't find a buyer, so they scraped some capital together and opened it as a club. It got off to a slow start and then half the county suddenly 'discovered' it, and now . . . well, you can see for yourself." "What a nice story," dare said. "It's so sad when lovely old houses have to be demolished or turned into offices. I wonder what would have happened to the girl in the portrait if it had been sold up." Paul glanced at the picture. "She would probably be adorning the wall of a New York penthouse," he said. "Or else gathering cobwebs at the back of some poky little junk shop, poor lass." "A picture that size would cover a whole wall in a modern house. I once bought a mirror at a sale which had a similar frame. It was being auctioned after the sale of a house in Mayfair. I got it for two pounds, and then of course I couldn't think what on earth to do with it, so eventually I gave it to my landlady, who put it in the bathroom. Such a come-down for it." After a delectable meal, Paul suggested that they should have their coffee and liqueurs on the terrace. It was dark now and the fountain glittered in the floodlights. "Jenny would be envious if she could see me now," dare said. "She's aching to be grown-up and go to dances. I expect she'll wake me up at crack of- dawn and demand a detailed description of the whole evening." Paul laughed. "She'll be an attractive little minx in five or six years. By which time I shall be an ageing reprobate with grizzled hair and gout," he added with a wry face. "Come, let's dance and forget such a depressing prospect." As she had expected, he was an excellent dancer, holding her closely but lightly so that she had no difficulty in following his lead and was able to give herself up to enjoyment of the music. At the end of a lively samba they left the floor and Paul suggested a stroll through the grounds. "Are you warm enough or shall I fetch your wrap?" he asked. "No, thank you. It's a lovely night, I shan't feel cold." He tucked her arm through his, and they crossed the lawn and followed a path which led through a sunken Italian garden sheltered by cypress trees. At the far end of the garden there was a shadowy creeper-covered bower, and as they passed it they heard a smothered laugh and then silence broken by a rapturous murmur. Involuntarily Clare stiffened and Paul looked down at her. "What's the matter?" he said softly. "Are you afraid that I brought you out here to make love to you?" She did not reply, and he drew her round to face him. "Well?" "What an impossible question, Paul." He smiled. "Yes, perhaps so. But your reactions interest me. Did it not occur to you before that I probably would?" She freed herself from his light clasp and walked on. @"Yes, to be honest, I suppose it did." "And did you decide what to do when the situation arose?" "No. I don't plan things like that." "Surely you knew whether my advances would be welcome or not." She paused and plucked a leaf from a bush, twirling it between finger and thumb. "What a most extraordinary conversation." He laughed and caught her hand and walked on. "You're an extraordinary girl, my dear. Do you know what your reaction should have been when I asked you if you thought I was going to make love t
o you?" "No. What?" "You should have blushed and fluttered your eyelashes at me and said, 'Why, Paul!' in a very coy voice." "I should hate to be coy," Clare said firmly. "Would you have preferred it?" "By no means. I like originality. But you still haven't answered my question." "Well, if you must know, I should scream for help," she told him teasingly. He grinned. "It wouldn't do much good. People would say, 'Dear me, that must be Mallinson up to his tricks again', and shake their heads disapprovingly." "Is that why yofl brought me out here? To add another scalp to your belt?" "No. I thought it would be pleasant to be alone with you, but not for that reason." "But how ungallant," she protested gaily. "Surely it would be more polite to say that you are seething to take me in your arms but propriety forbids you to do so." "You wouldn't believe me." "No, I wouldn't," she admitted. "I don't think you give ' a hoot for propriety, and I suspect that you've never seethed with longing for anything." 89 "I've discovered that life either gives you what you want or it doesn't @ in which case there's not much point m gnashing your teeth." "That's a retrogressive philosophy. If everyone gave up hope of reaching things which weren't immediately attainable, we should still be living in caves." ^'Ah, but I was talking about love," he reminded her. What you choose to call love," she corrected him. He tilted an eyebrow at her. "I believe you're going to moralise. It's time we went back." They danced again. This time he held her closer than before, and from time to time she caught him smiling down at her with a glint of mockery in his brown eyes. Between dances they sat on the terrace and drank champagne until dare said, "No, Paul. If I have another glass I shall begin to be light-headed." "Oh come, a little champagne won't hurt you." "No, really," she insisted. "I don't want the evening' to be spoilt by a hangover." "My little Puritan!" he teased, but there was no malice m his tone and he did not press her to have another drink. It was midnight when they left the club "Enjoy yourself?" he asked. "Yes, very much. It's been a perfect evening." She sighed luxuriously and leant her head against the back of the seat, feeling pleasantly drowsy yet not tired out. Paul reached for her hand and she let him take it "What a waste of a heavenly night @ all the people who are sound asleep in bed, I mean," she murmured. "Yes. When I was a boy I used to sleep out in a hammock on nights like this. I believe the hooks are still in the summer-house." He broke off to hoot at a cat which stood in the centre of me road, its eyes gleaming in the glare of the 90 headlights. Then, like a dark wraith, it merged into the blackness of the hedgerow. "But for real star-gazing," he went on, "you have to gO out East. I was in Ceylon a couple of years ago, and the stars were like diamonds, the whole sky was alight with them." / As they passed through the village the dashboard clock showed twenty minutes past twelve. Clare gathered her stole round her shoulders. She would have liked to go on driving through the night, lulled by the smooth speed of the big car, with Paul's thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. "Here we are, safely home," he said, pulling up at the top of the lane. He helped her out and they walked down the lane to the gate. He swung it open and Clare would have passed through, but his grip on her elbow tightened. She looked enquiringly at him and the next moment his mouth was on hers. It was a long time since she haijl been kissed, and after a second or two she yielded to his embrace and kissed him back. "No cry for help?" he asked softly. She shook her head. His lips traced the curve of her cheek, brushed her eyelids and found her mouth again, less gently this time She submitted to the fiercer pressure for a moment, and then gently disengaged herself. The second kiss had explained something of which she had not been certain. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Paul," she said quickly, and ran through the garden and into the house She was still standing with her back to the door when she heard his car start up and drive away. Dear Paul, she thought affectionately. So gay and generous @ and so much less of a big bad wolf than he liked to make out. She knew now that she would never feel anything deeper than friendship for him. His second kiss had proved that. While his lips had been tender she had found pleasure in their caress, but when his arms had tightened and she had felt this heart-beat quicken, there had been no answering flare of passion in her. It was the same old story. He was good-looking and agreeable and everything, or almost everything, that a woman could wish for in a man. Yet she was not, and never would be, in love with him. Why? she thought. Why? What is wrong with me? And then she remembered that another man had looked at her and her whole being had flamed m response. Suddenly the hall was bright with light. She blinked. "I thought I heard footsteps," David Lancaster said. He was standing in the sitting-room doorway, a pipe in one hand, a book in the other. "You startled me," she stammered. "I thought everyone would be in bed." "Did you have a pleasant evening?" "Yes. Delightful." Her stole had slipped to the floor and she bent to pick it up. ' "I have some coffee on the stove, if you would care. for a cup." "Thank you. That would be lovely." He disappeared into the kitchen, and she walked slowly into the sitting-room and sat down in the yellow wingchair. Had he waited up for her or had he. been reading and forgotten the time? Automatically she opened her bag and took out a mirror. How awful if she had come in flushed and dishevelled. That would have justified all his suspicions about her. When he returned with the tray of coffee she was standing by the window, unaware that the green linen curtains were a perfect foil for her white dress and auburn hair. ; She turned back to the chair and accepted the cup he offered. ; "Cigarette?" "No, thank you." His eyes were on her feet and, looking down, she realised that she had slipped off her dancing sandals. "Oh, I'm sorry ..." "No, don't mind me. I dare say you're tired if you've been on the floor all evening." "Yes." She told him about the club. "M'm, I believe they do you very well. I haven't been there. It's an expensive set-up," he said. "I suppose so," Clare agreed, thinking of the dinner and the champagne. "Are you getting tired of our quiet life?" he asked. "Qh no," she said hastily. "I enjoyed tonight very much, but, after all, if one went out every night it would become quite dull and ordinary." The clock on the bookcase chimed a quarter to one and, finishing her coffee, she said reluctantly, "I'd better go. to bed, or I shall be late in the morning. Thank you for the coffee." "Lie in if you want to," he said. "Well. , . good night." "Good night." In his bedroom at the Hall, Paul Mallinson sat drinking a glass of brandy. He had changed his dinner-jacket for a dark silk dressing-gown, but although it was past one o'clock he did not feel inclined to go to bed. It was ridiculous, of course, but the evening had left him curiously restive and dissatisfied. Time I went up to Town and got back into the swing of th'ngs, he thought; two months in this place is enough to unsettle anyone. Yet he knew in his heart that it was not the placid village which was undermining his usual insouciance. It was Clare, confound her. Why had she whisked away from him so suddenly tonight? Not out of guile - the catch-me-if-you^can tech^ @ of that he was sure. Wilier girls than Clare Drake had tried to snare him, and he was convinced that there was no cunning or artifice in her.Paul, my boy, you're in danger . . . grave danger, he told himself. If you don't watch out you'll be fool enough to fall for her. Well, why not? She is attractive, damned attractive, and she has brains too, which is more than you can say for most of'em.On the other hand, marriage meant settling down, and Clare wouldn't be the kind to overlook an occasional lapse from the straight and narrow. Not that a fellow would be driven to seeking outside diversions if he was married to her. Under that cool exterior of hers there was fire. She probably didn't know it herself yet, but one of these days ...That was another point in her favour. She was what people called "wholesome". Not one of your frisky little gadabouts who bestowed their favours anywhere and ^S Tost men who have played fast and loose for years without the faintest twinge of conscience, when Paul thought of marriage it was to a girl who was as innocent as he was experienced.Yes, he thought soberly, I could do worse. A lot worse.'It's worth considering. As he went through to the bathroom to take a shower, he did not guess that the time would come when his cocksure attitude would be pricked like a balloon. Nor did he guess that in her bedroom under the eaves of Creek House dare was drea
ming, not of his kisses but of how it would feel to be kissed by another man. 94
