by Anne Weale
CHAPTER NINE
A FORTNIGHT before the gala dance at the Hall, dare met Penny Conyers in the village post office. "I believe you work too hard," she said, noticing how pinched and wan the younger girl looked. Penny shrugged her thin shoulders. "I am a bit tired," she admitted. "It's been a rushed week. Mrs. Tubbs, our daily woman, is ill, so I've had to do everything myself, and there was the Sunday-school outing on Tuesday, which always needs a good deal of organisation, and I spent Wednesday making jam from our raspberry crop." "Do you like housekeeping?" dare asked when they had made their purchases and were walking across the green together. "Yes, I don't mind it," said Penny. "Of course our house is really much too big for two people, and the kitchen is terribly antiquated. If we had a modem stove and an electric boiler it would make things easier, but I suppose we're lucky to have main water at all. The Rector's wife at Greenstaithe has to manage with a pump and oil lamps, and she has four children. Are you in a hurry or have you time for a cup of coffee?" "I should love one," dare said. Although Penny evidently saw nothing unusual in keeping house for her father and shouldering a great deal of the parish work, Clare could not help feeling that it was wrong for a girl of her age to bear so much responsibility. Following the afternoon of the fete when she had first become concerned about Penny, she had asked Miss Lancaster why the girl was so quiet and reserved. Miss Lancaster said that in her opinion Penny's painful shyness sprang from the treatment she had received from her father's cousin, who had kept house for him 123 until his daughter was old enough to take over the reins. Margaret Conyers had been one of those soured and narrow-minded women who contrive to cast a blight on everyone within their orbit, and instead of giving the motherless child affection and encouragement, she had been for ever criticising and punishing her. "But why did Mr. Conyers allow it?" Clare protested. "I don't think he realised what a miserable creature Margaret was," Miss Lancaster explained. "She ran the house very efficiently and was careful to curb her acid tongue when he was within earshot. Penny was a particularly sensitive child, and Margaret succeeded in giving her a hopeless inferiority complex. Fortunately she was called away to minister to some other unfortunate relatives when Penny was about sixteen, and I dare say she found herself more comfortably situated with them because she didn't come back." Now, sitting in the Vicarage kitchen, watching Penny prepare coffee, dare wished there was something she could do to help her overcome the deep-rooted habit of self-effacement. "Are you going to the ball?" she asked. Penny nodded, but she did not seem very enthusiastic. "What are you going to wear?" Clare enquired. (Paul had abandoned his fleeting idea about fancy dress.) "My blue silk, I suppose. I haven't another long dress, and it hardly seems worth buying a new one just for one evening.""No, they are expensive," dare agreed. "What is the blue silk like?" "I'll show it to you," Penny said. "I thought of altering the neck. Perhaps you could advise me what to do with it. You always have such nice clothes." She glanced shyly at dare's turquoise linen dress with its broad belt of cinnamon suede. "Yes, of course. I love fiddling about with clothes," dare said readily. Penny went upstairs and came down with a dress of electric blue artificial silk over her arm. ^She held it up against herself and dare had to repress a grimace of dismay. Not only was the shade of blue too harsh for the girl's soft colouring, but the style was years out of date and much to fussy for her age. "You know, white is really the thing for you," she said thoughtfully. "Look, don't be offended with me, but I don't think this dress is quite right for a ball. Have you thought of making one? It wouldn't cost half as much as buying one, and I'd love to help you run it up if you haven't much time to spare." "Would you really?" Penny said with a flash of eagerness. Then she bit her lip and said reluctantly, "I don't really need a new dress. I've only worn this one four or five times." "How much money could you spare?" dare said briskly. She was determined that Penny should not go to the ball in that hideous blue silk if she could help it. "Well, I've got six pounds saved up but I'm not sure@@" "Good heavens, you could have a really gorgeous frock for half that amount," Clare said hastily. "Net is frightfully cheap, and you wouldn't need an expensive material for the^ foundation." "But where could I get the material?" Penny said. dare hesitated a moment and then she leaned forward and said persuasively, "Would you trust me to get it for you? You know we go over to Norwich every Saturday, so I could get the fabric this week-end and then we'd have ten days to make it up. Have you got a pencil? I'll show you what I think ;would suit you. Something very simple and filmy with just a touch of blue the exact shade of your eyes. Here, like this.. ..'" She hunted in her bag for a scrap of paper and, seizing the pencil which Penny handed to her, made a rapid sketch. "There! How about that?" Penny leaned over her shoulder and studied the hurried drawing. "But surely it would cost a fortune to make a dress like that," she said uncertainly. "No, it wouldn't. I used to share a flat with a mannequin, and she showed me several dodges for making offthe-peg clothes look like models. The same things apply to home-made efforts. If you leave it to me, I'll make you a dress which will look like a million dollars and cost practically nothing. After all, it is a special occasion!" It took some time to convince Penny that the plan was not unjustifiably extravagant, but finally dare won her round. Penny insisted on fetching four pounds from her savings tin, and as it was clear that she was still uneasy, Clare took the money and said good-bye before she could change her mind. During the afternoon Paul rang up to ask if she would care to go for a drive that evening and, having checked that David would not need her after tea, she accepted the invitation and arranged to meet Paul at the top of the lane at six o'clock. During tea David said he was taking Jenny out in the dinghy for an hour and would she care to join them? "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm going out," she said. "With Paul?" said Jenny. "Yes. We're driving over to some inn he has discovered," Clare said. "Well, you'll probably enjoy that more than paddlin" around m the tub," David remarked. She suspected that he was jibing at her, for she knew now that he frowned on her friendship with Paul, and would never believe that she would have much preferred to spend the evening sailing. Lately she had despaired of establishing a friendship with him, for although the scene on the night Paul had sent her the box of gardenias and the incident by the 126 ditch when they were searching for Josh had proved that he was not completely indifferent to her presence, she had no reason to suppose that he felt anything more than an Unwilling physical attraction towards her. So it was with troubled thoughts that she went to meet Paul, and although, as always, she soon responded to his gaiety, the underlying sense of disquiet remained. They drove inland to a quiet inn by a river, and it was very pleasant sitting on the lawn at the back of the building watching a family of swans gliding beneath the willows. Some distance away from them another couple were sitting, their hands clasped, their heads close together. Now and then the girl would laugh at something the man had said, and once Clare saw him lean closer and kiss her cheek. They were probably engaged, and later, when it was dark, they would stroll home together, their arms about each other, planning the future. I wonder if I shall ever be like that, dare thought rather forlornly. -Sometimes she had the feeling that time was flying by and she was being left behind, cut off from the things that other girls enjoyed. Twenty-six was not old, of course, but youth did not last for ever and she seemed to have so little to show for her life. Was it possible that she was destined to remain single, never to have a home of her own and children? It seemed a bleak prospect. Perhaps I shall end up by being one of those perfect secretaries, she thought wryly. Grey-haired and a trifle stout and absolutely indispensable to some harassed business-man. Oh dear, I do hope not. "You had a most curious expression on your face just then," Paul said, smiling at her. "What were you thinking about?" Clare sipped her Cinzano and laughed. "I was imagining myself being presented with a chiming clock and a silver-mounted biscuit-barrel after thirty years of faithful service," she said. 127 "What an extraordinary idea!" He raised his eyebrows m amazement. "Faithful service to whom? ^ "Oh to an M.P. or a stockbroker,
I should think. "You don't regard this secretarial business as a life's ^I'dldn^un'til lately. But I was just thinking that perhaps it might be," she admitted. "Good lord, what a prospect! That's what comes of burying yourself in the country. You'll be rustling up the aisle in white satined what-have-you long before the -biscuit-barrel stage." . @ ,"I don't know, not everyone gets married, she said reasonably. "Take Mr. Lancaster, for instance. I shouldn t think he will." ,"Oh David's the exception to the rule. He s let one spell of bad luck mess up his whole life, poor devil. I suppose you know about that?" "No." "He was jilted," Paul said briefly. "But why?" Clare asked in astonishment. He gave her a rather odd 'look and she said hastily, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. It's none of my business." , . , -"It's no secret," Paul said. "He was engaged to a girl a few years ago, and she found somebody richer and threw him over at the last moment. He happened to be in hospital at the time, pretty badly knocked up, which made it a bit harder to take." "How frightfully cruel! I had no idea." "Most people have forgotten about it@except David, of course. That's why he isn't exactly enthusiastic about your charming sex.""No I can understand that now," Clare said softly. The casual information had clarified many things about her employer which had mystified her. Poor David. No wonder he mistrusted women. 128 "Was she a good-looking girl, do you know?" she asked. "Yes, an absolute stunner, I believe. I never met her, but from all accounts she was also a thorough-going little tramp." That accounted for David's contempt for beauty. When he had said of Andrea Ashley that beauty was only skin deep he had been thinking of the girl who had treated him so heartlessly. Clare was so immersed in consideration of the new light which Paul had thrown on the complexities of David's character that when he said, "Time we were going," she realised with a start that it was already dusk. Wondering if he suspected her of being unduly interested in her employer's past history, she made an effort to be lively and talkative on the return drive. "The village seems to be buzzing with excitement about the ball," she said. "It must make a tremendous amount. of work for your staff." "Oh, they like it," he said. "I'm lucky enough to have some of the old school with me, none of your clockwatchers who would much rather be doing piece-work in a factory. Not that you can blame 'em, of course. If I'd had the misfortune to be born one of the world's workers I'd be in a factory myself. Lord knows what I should do if I lost Henderson and Mrs. Craig. Sell up, probably. No use keeping on a great barn of a house without staff." He hooted at a dog which was standing in the centre of the road outside a farm gate. "I remember when I was a kid we had a vegetable maid called Polly. She used to be up at five staggering about with buckets of coal, and the rest of the day she spent cutting up vegetables. Her hands were a shocking sight. She got a few shillings a week and her keep, which was good going in those days, poor little wretch. In the end she was sent packing because of some trouble with one of the village lads. I don't know what happened to her after 129 that, but if Polly had been bom in 1940 instead of 1920 she would have a job in a shop or factory with good wages and plenty of time off." "I suppose in the old days I should have been a chil-dren's governess or a companion," Clare said. "At any rate, I shouldn't have been spending my evenings with the squire," she added teasingly. "Ypu weren't born in the early twenties," he reminded her. "The great change began in those ten years." At the top of the lane he stopped the car. "I suppose I can't lure you up to the house for a nightcap?" She shook her head. "No, but thank you for the drive." "It's not late. Don't you approve of visiting bachelor establishments, or do you still suspect me of dishonourable intentions?" "Of course not," she said honestly, "but you know what the village is. I expect they would love a nice juicy piece of gossip about you." He threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Bless you, my sweet. You're the first woman who has ever been concerned about preserving my reputation, but I'm afraid it's a lost cause." "Why do you make yourself out to be such a blackguard?" she asked. "Don't you believe I am?" "No, I don't," she said firmly. "I think you just pretend to be one." "I'm afraid there are not many people who share your opinion." "They probably don't know you very well." "Do you?" "I think so. Well, enough to trust you.'8 He put his hand over hers and pressed it. "You know, you have-a peculiar effect on me," he said softly. "I don't quite know what to make of it. Would it shatter your illusions if I kissed you good night?" 130 Before she could reply he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "That's out of character, too," he said with a grin. "I think you'd better run indoors before I'm tempted to challenge your good opinion." On Saturday morning David drove them into Norwich, and Clare went in search of the materials for Penny's ball dress. She bought a length of cheap white taffeta for the base and sixteen yards of white tulle to make the very full skirt which she had in mind. This left her just over ten shillings of Penny's money with which to buy the sapphire-blue satin for the sash, so she added some of her own money to the budget and chose some luxurious French satin. She was passing a shoe shop on her way to meet the others for lunch when she noticed a pair of blue velvet slippers in the window and, on impulse, she went inside and bought them, hoping she had guessed Penny's size correctly. "What intriguing parcels," Miss Lancaster commented when she arrived at the restaurant and slipped into the chair which David held for her. "I'm helping Penny to make a dress for the ball," Clare explained. "The one she has is not a bit becoming, and I managed to persuade her that she ought to have something really glamorous for a change." "I didn't know women helped each other to achieve that extremely overrated condition," David said with arched brows. "It depends on the women," dare replied, giving him a straight look. "And even if you don't approve of glamour, I think you'll admit that Penny has the makings of a very pretty girl." 131 "Certainly," he agreed smoothly. "I was merely wondering whether paint and powder and an elaborate get-up were necessarily improvements." "I have not the least intention of encouraging her to use paint and powder, as you call it," dare said crisply. "And if you think her existing clothes are becoming, you can't have very much appreciation of design." He made no reply to this, and she wondered if she had been too outspoken. "I entirely agree with you," Miss Lancaster said decidedly. "The poor child hasn't a decent rag to her back. It's very thoughtful of you to help her, Clare. You have excellent taste, my dear, and I'm sure you'll make her look very nice." "Miss Bunberry didn't use face powder, and you said she had a face like a boiled turnip, Uncle David," Jenny remarked.' David gave his niece a chilling glance and Miss Lancaster hastily raised her napkin to her lips to hide a smile. "I shall use powder as soon as I'm old enough," Jenny said firmly. "And red nail varnish. Did you notice that girl who served you in the library this morning, Aunt Leo? Her nails were miles long and gorgeously red. I shall have mine like that as soon as I'm eighteen." "Not if you're staying in my house," David said sternly. "Can't stand the sight of 'em." "Oh, I'm so sorry. If I'd known you felt like that I would have stopped using nail varnish for the time being," Clare said innocently. Her nails were painted a glossy coral. David glanced at them and then at her. She managed to keep a straight face. A slight flush coloured his tanned cheeks, and she longed to put her hand on his arm and say, "I was only teasing. Why do you have to be so gruff?" But she didn't dare and the moment passed, 132 That evening, while the rest of the household was listening to a radio play, Clare spread a dust-sheet on the kitchen table and cut out Penny's dress. She had chosen a very simple pattern with a scooped-out neckline and little cap sleeves, knowing that Penny would not be able to carry off anything too sophisticated. Soon after nine David came through the kitchen to take Josh for a run. He glanced at the cloud of tulle on the table but made no remark. Half an hour later he returned and gave the dog its nightly biscuit and fresh drinking water. dare was bending over the table, unpinning the cut fabric from the pieces of paper pattern. She had washed her hair during the afternoon and it curled in soft tendrils on her forehead. "Have you done much dressmaking?" David asked, watching her work. She glanced up. "I used to make most of my own clothes when I first started work and didn't earn ve
ry much. It's not difficult." He touched the filmy tulle. The fragile substance seemed to emphasise the strength and masculinity of his well-shaped brown hands. "Do you like this colour?" she asked, spreading out the blue satin. "Yes, I like blue. There's a flower that shade called spring squill. It isn't common along this coast. They used to make cough cure from it years ago." "You mean Scilla vernal" she said, smiling. "How did you know that?" "You mentioned it in the chapter on swamp plants," she said, folding the satin away. "You must have a very retentive memory." "Some of the names are so pretty," she said. "Like lamb's lettuce and tamarisk and eyebright." "Yes, they are. I didn't realise you were interested." 133 "I wasn't at first," she admitted. "Then I went for a walk on the marsh and noticed a spiky yellow flower which I hadn't seen before, and I looked it up in one of your text-books and found it was sea-purslane. After that I began to learn the names of all the plants on the marsh." He was silent for a while and then he said, "I'm afraid you thought me rather stuffy at lunch-time@about all this," he indicated the tulle and taffeta. "Yes," she said gravely. "I did." "I'm sorry," he said. "I dare say I am a good deal behind the times in some respects." She bent her head to hide the understanding in her eyes. He has turned his face fapm everything that could remind him that women are desirable, she thought. He must have loved that girl very much for the bitterness to have lasted all these years. On Monday evening dare took the dress to the Vicarage for its first fitting. "Did you have enough money?" Penny asked anxiously." "Here's your sixpence change," dare said. She felt that in this case a white lie was justified. When Penny had taken off her blouse and skirt, revealing a shabby but spotlessly clean rayon slip, Clare helped her into the dress which she had tacked together the day before. "H'm, the waistline needs raising a little. Where did I put the pins? That's better. Now turn round and let me see if the back hangs properly." "What a heavenly rustle," Penny exclaimed with childish pleasure as she revolved slowly. "You really need two or three stiffened petticoats underneath," dare said. "If there's time we'll make some 134 out of butter muslin. By the way, I've got a small present for you." She nodded towards the oblong box which she, had put on a chair. "A present! Oh, what is it?" Penny said excitedly. "Open it and see." "Oh, dare, they're lovely, but I couldn't possibly accept them. They must have cost a fortune." She gazed at the velvet slippers longingly. "In that case I shall have to give them. away," dare said carelessly. "Your feet are much smaller than mine. At least they look'it. Try them to see if they fit." Penny slipped off her everyday shoes and slid her feet into the dancing slippers. "Why, yes, they fit perfectly." Her face clouded. "But really I can't@@" "Oh yes, you can. If you don't I shan't help you finish the dress, and think what a waste of money that will be," Clare pointed out. "Well . . .oh, they are pretty. I don't believe I can resist them. Thank you very much, Clare. I can't think why you should,be so kind to me." "Nonsense," Clare said briskly. "Now, if you'll take the dress off, I'll run it up on your machine. Sewing the tulle will be the tricky part. Have you got an evening-bag? Because if not I thought we might make one out of the blue satin to match your sash and line it with some odd pieces of taffeta that are left over. You can pin a spray of forget-me-nots or scabious to the flap. It will be the perfect finishing touch." Penny had just finished dressing when there was a rap at the front door and someone called "Anyone in?" "It's Paul," Penny said, looking startled. What on earth can he want?" "To see your father, perhaps," Clare suggested. Penny smoothed her rumpled hair and hurried out. A moment later she returned with Paul beside her. 135 "Hallo. I was told you were here. I wondered if you'd like a run up the coast. Some friends of mine are g.. .ng a party, and I said I'd look in," he said to Clare. "I'm sorry, I can't, Paul. We're busy dressmaking." "Can't you leave it till tomorrow?" he asked. "No. It's rather important. Besides, I'm not dressed. Thank you for asking me." Penny was picking up some pins which had dropped on the floor and Clare gave Paul a look meaning, "j-Liw about asking her?" He raised one eyebrow and shook his head. "Well, if I really can't persuade you to come, I'll be off. Sony to'have burst in like th;s." He said good night and departed. "You should have gone," Penny said when the front door had slammed behind him. "I could have done those seams." "I didn't particularly want to go," Clare repFed. She noticed that Penny's colour had risen, and as she replaced the pins in their tin her hand trembled sl ghtly. 'She's in love with him, dare thought. Or if not actually in love, she has a tremendous "crush" on him. Poor ch Id, she might as well reach for a star. It's fairly natural, of course. He's just the type of'man to appeal to a g rl of her age. Or could it have been shyness whch had that effect on her? No, I'm sure it was something more. By the end of the week Clare had finished the dress and made a small satin pochette to go with it. She invited Miss Lancaster to a preview, and the old lady pronounced the result charming. "I feel like Cinderella," Penny said, parading in front of the pier-glass. "I think it would be a good plan if I came over in the afternoon and helped you do your ha-'r and face," Clare suggested. "You wouldn't mind, would you. Miss Lancaster?" "Not at all. What are you going to wear, dear?" "I don't know yet," Clare said. "I looked round the shops last Saturday, but couldn't see anything I liked. I shall try again tomorrow, if we go over. I have got a reasonably presentable dress, but I feel like being wildly extravagant and buying something special. I've spent very little money since I've been-here, so it wouldn't break the bank." "Well, I shall wear my black lace," Miss Lancaster said. "It's nearly fifteen years old, but at my age fashion isn't important." * * @ * On Sunday afternoon dare met Paul on the foreshore. "Did you have a good time at the party? she asked. "There was an ample supply of gin and blondes," he said. "Then perhaps it was just as well that I didn't go with you," she answered, amused at his tone which she guessed was intended to nettle her. "Sorry. That was pure chagrin," he^said quickly. "As a matter of fact, I didn't enjoy it at all. I seem to be losing my taste for that sort of thing," "Why did you make that odd face when I hinted that you should ask Penny?" she said. "Good lord, it wasn't her sort of party," he said. "And if it had been, would you have asked her then?" "It wouldn't have occurred to me. Penny's just a kid. You may change your mind about that when you see her at the ball, Clare thought. "Hallo, here comes David," Paul said. She turned and saw him striding towards them, a bathing towel slung over his shoulder. He would have passed them with a nod of acknowledgment had she not stepped forward and said, "Are you going swimming? Could I come with you?" 137 Afterwards she was not clear what had prompted her to do such a thing- Both he and Paul had looked noticeably puzzled, but before he could refuse she had said swiftly, "I'll run back to the house and get my things. I won't be a minute." When she returned Paul had gone and David was idly tossing pebbles into the water. The tide was up and they sailed as far as the point and then walked round to the beach. Neither of them had spoken a word. It was not until they had had their swim, dried and changed, and were walking back to the dinghy, that dare broke the silence by saying, "I hope you don't mind my coming." "Why should I?" "You might have wanted to be alone." "Couldn't you rely on me to tell you if that was the case?" he enquired with a glint of humour in his eyes. She laughed. "Yes. At least you don't prevaricate for politeness' sake." "At least . . . ?" he asked with a touch of irony. "Do you find my character leaves a great deal to be desired in other respects?" She flushed. "I didn't mean it to sound like that." He laughed and helped her into the boat. "I also have a very thick skin," he said dryly. Suddenly they were both laughing. The companionable atmosphere lasted until they returned to the house. "Would you like some coffee?" dare suggested. "Good idea." He followed her into the kitchen and leant against the dresser while she filled, the percolator and put out cups and saucers. She was very conscious of the intimacy of the scene, and looking up she saw that he was watching her as if he, too, felt the sudden warmth and harmony between them. Then, for no apparent reason, the warmth died from his eyes and the lines of his 138 ' '.^i'^syface hardened. The mood was lost; he had deliberately killed it. Clare turned back to the stove to hide h
er despair. There was no doubting that he had felt the cordiality of the atmosphere; but the feeling had not lasted. He had not wanted it to last. 139
