by I'll Get By
The corner of one eyebrow twitched. ‘Never?’
‘Never . . . at least . . . not a strange one.’
‘I’m hardly strange.’ He sighed ‘All right, seeing as how your aunt and uncle are acting in loco parentis on this occasion I’ll ring them.’
‘Will you wait until I’ve informed them of that fact then.’
He laughed and hurried across the office to open the door for her. He stood in the opening, partially blocking it, the quizzical look back on his face. He was of a comfortable height. Her eyes were on a level with the firm jaw, and the curve of his mouth. ‘I’ll have to think of something more memorable than a quick shuffle around the dance floor of the Hammersmith Palais for your first date. Why do you want to go to Cambridge? You never said.’
She admitted, ‘I’m trying not to offer information because I was conned by a man disguised as a policeman last week. He went in the house while my aunt and I were out and he helped himself to some money and our jewellery.’
The expected scoff of laughter at her stupidity didn’t come. Instead, he said, ‘You have to be careful in London. There are a lot of disadvantaged people who will steal out of sheer necessity.’
‘This man wasn’t so poor that he couldn’t afford expensive shoes. He probably stole those from somewhere, too.’
‘I hope he didn’t get much?’
‘He only took a garnet ring from my room, but he stole all of my aunt’s jewellery and some cash. Just the thought that a stranger has been through the house and handled everything is disconcerting. It made my aunt feel . . . grubby.’
‘Yes . . . I suppose it must have. I’m so sorry you and your aunt had to go through that. Cambridge?’ he reminded.
‘Ah yes . . . Cambridge. The plan is that I might decide to study law as a career eventually and I thought that having a degree of sorts would be an asset.’
‘The law? You’re an enigma, do you know that, Margaret. However, I do love it when the occasional lady lawyer emerges from the ranks and splutters of outrage go around the old boys’ clubs. Good luck to you.’
Meggie could only remember one person who’d called her Margaret. That had been her grandfather. She’d always thought it to be an old-fashioned name because it had been her Sangster grandmother’s name. But if the name was good enough for an English princess then it was good enough for her, and she was grown-up, after all.
She decided that she liked Rennie Stone, and wished she hadn’t been so bumptious.
Four
Meggie discussed the outcome of her meeting with her Aunt Esmé. ‘Rennie Stone was quite nice, but he didn’t tell me anything, except to say that he thinks the estate isn’t worth much now. He wants to go through the files to familiarize himself with it. I expect he’ll consult my stepfather because he acts on my behalf. Then I’ll be in trouble.’
‘You could always ring Denton yourself. He’s not unreasonable.’
‘I know . . . but he’s always so busy, and Mummy likes him to relax when he’s not working.’
‘As we’re all inclined to do with our men. But Denton is trustee of your legacy, and that is your business and his. You have no choice, Meggie. Denton will be much more inclined to see reason if you explain things to him personally. Ring him now.’
‘He won’t be home yet.’
‘Then ask your mother to pass on a message for him to ring you.’
As luck had it, Denton was having a rare day off. He sounded pleased to hear from her. ‘Meggie . . . this is a surprise. Your mother isn’t in. She’s at Nutting Cottage with Chad, measuring up for some new curtains.’
‘It’s you I wanted to talk to,’ and she drew in a breath and plunged in. ‘I went to see the solicitor handling the Sinclair estate. He’ll probably ring you before long.’
There wasn’t even the slightest censure in his voice when he asked, ‘Is there anything important I should know about?’
‘Well . . . I don’t suppose you’ll think it that important. Did Mummy tell you I wanted to go to university . . . to become a lawyer?’
There wasn’t even a blink of silence. ‘No . . . no, she didn’t, but what’s that to do with the Sinclair estate, poppet?’
‘If I’m accepted I’ll need money to support myself with.’
‘Good lord, yes, I suppose you will. Nothing comes cheaply these days. So you’re going to follow in your father’s footsteps, are you? Richard would be delighted.’
She felt a little teary. ‘You don’t mind, do you? What if the Sinclair estate can’t afford the fees? I’m given to understand that Girton College is dreadfully expensive. I don’t want to sound selfish or anything because I know you have the boys to educate—’
‘You’re not responsible for their education, Meggie. Besides, Grandfather Elliot left them a legacy, enough for their education. We can only wait and see what Mr Stone comes up with. I’ll discuss it with Livia, too. She might have some thoughts on the matter. Poor Meggie, we haven’t given your future much thought, have we? What have you been up to in London?’
‘Leo took me flying . . . it was such fun. We did all these twists, turns, and somersaults in the air. He said it helps him to unwind after the stress of his job.’
‘Working with sick children can be extremely stressful, as well as rewarding. Children have such fear along with the trust in their eyes when they look at you. Knowing you’re going to have to cause them pain to effect a cure doesn’t lessen the guilt you feel. I have a great deal of respect for Leo. How is your aunt?’
‘She’s well, though a bit rattled at the moment. I adore them both.’ Not only did she adore them both, Meggie now had a great deal more respect for what both Leo and her stepfather achieved in their respective professions.
‘What’s Esmé rattled about?’
‘Oh yes . . . I nearly forgot to tell you. A man disguised as a policeman robbed us . . .’ She related the incident and finished with, ‘Aunt Es keeps a rolling pin handy when she’s here alone, in case he comes back.’
He laughed. ‘Good for Esmé. By the way, I never grumble. I’m perfect. Your mother has been telling me so for years.’
‘You’re not a bad old Daddy Bear, at that.’
‘Thanks . . . was much taken in the robbery?’
‘Cash and all of Aunt Esmé’s jewels, and that ring she gave me with the garnets in . . . the one that famous dancer gave to her, only I can’t remember his name. By the way . . . Mr uh . . . Stone wanted to take me out dancing. I said yes. I suppose that’s all right, isn’t it? He seems quite a decent sort.’
‘Isn’t Simon Stone a little grandfatherly for someone of your tender years? He’s old enough even to be my father.’
She grinned at the note of censure in his voice. ‘That Mr Stone died a year ago. I’m talking about Rainard Stone . . . his grandson. He said he was born in a deluge of rain, and that’s how he got his name. What an odd thing for a parent to do, though his mother looked quite normal.’
‘Oh yes, I remember . . . I did receive a letter from him. Your mother did something with it; probably put it in a file somewhere. It’s amazing how many pieces of paper one collects in a lifetime. You reminded me just as I was about to put my fatherly foot down.’
‘It would have ended up in your mouth.’
‘It often does, which is why I leave most things to your mother. She finds it easier to say no than I do. What were we talking about?’
‘Me going dancing with Rainard Stone.’
‘You don’t need my permission to go out dancing, you’re old enough to decide for yourself.’
‘I’ve never been asked out by a man before.’
He chuckled. ‘Then it’s time you got some practice in. How do you feel about it?’
‘I feel unsure.’ She grinned at the mouthpiece. ‘I was flattered to be invited though. It was probably because I looked smart. I wore the new suit and court shoes Aunt Es bought me . . . also some lipstick. I suggested we make up a foursome with Aunt Es and Leo. Rennie didn’t s
eem all that keen on the idea, but said he’d ring them.’
‘Good idea, there’s always safety in numbers . . . and once you get to know this young man better I expect you’ll have more confidence in yourself.’
‘Exactly what I thought. I do seem to have a tendency to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and he ticked me off. So did Leo. So that was twice in one week. I’ll have to try and train myself to be pleasant. Men are awfully touchy, aren’t they? Leo told me I should count to ten before I speak. So far I haven’t got past five.’
Now he guffawed with laughter. ‘Good luck then. Don’t be too hard on yourself, my love. I’ve always thought you to be perfectly all right as you are. Give my love to Esmé. When you come home bring me a packet of those special mint humbugs she buys from Fortnum and Mason, will you?’
‘Will do. Bye, Daddy, you’re a brick and a half.’
‘That was worth knowing,’ he said and blew a kiss down the line before he hung up.
Meggie turned to find her aunt grinning at her. ‘From your response, it sounds as though everything went well.’
‘My stepfather is a gem.’
‘I’ve always thought so. What was that about us going dancing with your solicitor? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘He hasn’t telephoned you, yet. I hope he hasn’t forgotten, or changed his mind.’
‘It sounds as though you like this lawyer of yours.’
She shrugged, but couldn’t hide the faint grin she gave. ‘He’s all right, I suppose, but I don’t want to form any attachments with men. As soon as women get married they’re expected to stop work and stay home, unless they have a job like yours. It’s not fair.’
‘I agree.’
‘Will you teach me how to do the foxtrot?’
‘Now . . . when it’s my turn to get the dinner ready?’
‘After dinner will do fine. In return I’ll cook it for you. What’s more, tomorrow, when it’s my proper turn, I’ll make a lamb hotpot with suet dumplings.’
Es grinned. ‘Mmmmm . . . you’re on.’
Nicholas Cowan’s eyelids barely quivered when his father looked over The Times newspaper at him and announced, ‘Sir James Bethuen will have an opening in his department in a month or two. I’ve put your name forward. It will be an opportunity for you especially if war breaks out, since it’s a desk job. At least you’ll be out of the fighting, unless Hitler manages to set foot on English soil, then every man, woman and child will take up arms.’
Nick had known his idle life was coming to an end. He’d spent two years settling into his manhood, mostly on the Continent, supposedly studying but doing very little apart from living the life of a well-heeled young viscount with very little responsibility. Nick never did anything by half. He sailed the Mediterranean coast, picking up awards for his skills in the racing circles, entertained a smart crowd of several nationalities at his villa, and collected a smattering of languages along the way, something that came surprisingly easy to him. His father, who had an eye on the diplomatic service for him, had called him home six months previously.
‘If war breaks out I want you this side of the English Channel. In the meantime I’ll keep an ear open for an opportunity for you.’
Carefully, Nick cut a generous strip of crisply fried bacon from his rasher, dipped it into his egg yolk and ate it. The egg was just as he liked it, the yolk not runny, but not quite firm either, and the outside edge of the egg browned, but not burned.
Dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin he gazed at his father – at his handsome face and the grey moustache he’d recently grown. He reminded Nick somewhat of Anthony Eden, who’d resigned the year before as secretary of state after a disagreement with Chamberlain. The Italian dictator Mussolini had referred to Eden as, ‘The best dressed fool in Europe.’ Something Nicholas was inclined to agree with. ‘What does Sir James have in mind?’
‘Who knows? Some sort of information gathering, I think. Nothing that would stretch your intellect to any great degree I should imagine, since James was a duffer at school. He hints at cloak and dagger stuff to attach importance to himself. Anyway, he can fit you in the day after tomorrow. Lunch at his club one p.m. He owes me a favour so don’t be late. It doesn’t pay to rub civil servants up the wrong way.’
When Nicholas nodded in reply his father folded the page back and ducked down behind the paper again. The crossword was in full view and Nicholas slanted his head to one side. He’d solved several of the clues in his mind and had eaten most of his breakfast before his father turned to the next page and informed him, ‘That burglar has been at it again . . . the one who disguises himself as a policeman. This time somebody saw him and gave a good description. He’s an ugly looking customer. Apparently he has dark staring eyes, crooked teeth and a flattened nose, as though it had been broken. They’ve put a drawing of him in the paper.’
Nick didn’t think he’d have anything to worry about, since his eyes were grey, his teeth straight and his nose as handsome as that of a Roman senator . . . or so his mother had told him.
He had a short, poignant memory of her hugging him tight, his handsome nose pressed against the tickling fur flung over one shoulder, and breathing in her perfume as he fought against the urge to sneeze. He’d been about thirteen. ‘Never forget that I love you. Promise you’ll be all right without me, my lovely boy . . . and be good for your father. You can come and visit me in the holidays.’
‘I promise, mother.’
It had been a rainy April day, the park opposite scattered with daffodils. A man had stepped from the cab and kissed her red mouth. Nick had cleared a space in the misted window and watched as her cabin trunks were loaded into the cab. Then she’d turned to look up at the window and her mouth had wrinkled and puckered, as though she’d grown old before his eyes. She’d blown him a kiss.
He’d realized then that she was leaving for good, and turned his back on her. At that moment he’d never wanted to see her again.
He closed his eyes as the memory began to fade. She’d been wearing a diamond ring, and for a moment the sun had emerged from behind a cloud and it had gleamed with cold fire.
Three months later his father had taken time out from his busy schedule to travel to the school. He’d cleared his throat and said, ‘There was an accident dear boy . . . the car your mother was in. It went off the road into a ravine. They had been drinking. Perhaps it’s just as well . . . the scandal, you know.’
He’d been in the middle of exams, and was angry with her for dying before she’d proved she loved him by coming back. ‘You could have telephoned,’ was all he found to say.
His father had a woman with him, small, with bright hair, pert breasts, and the same red mouth as his mother. She was about eight years older than Nick.
‘This is Jane. We’re going to be married when you come home for the hols.’
Jane took it on herself to teach Nick the facts of life during the first week of his holiday. She learned that blood was thicker than water when word just happened to reach his father’s ear via an anonymous letter.
Opening his eyes, Nick gently smiled. Ah yes the scandal . . . something not to be tolerated at all. It was all done quite gentlemanly . . . a birching from his father followed by a quick trip to a professional lady with many tricks, and honour was satisfied. The woman and her belongings disappeared overnight, never to be mentioned again. He wondered what had happened to her.
‘I’ll have a quick look at the burglar after breakfast so I can keep an eye out for the cad. People are silly leaving their valuables where they can easily be found.’
‘Quite . . . I hope you’re free the day after tomorrow, Nick?’
‘I’ve joined the martial arts class at my club.’
His father’s head popped up again. ‘I’ve heard of it but never known exactly what type of art it is.’
Nick tried not to grin. ‘It’s actually the art of self-defence. It’s a method of defending yourself by disabling your opponent wit
h a series of kicks, holds and throws if you’re attacked.’
His father gave a huff of laughter. ‘Yes, of course it is. I was making a joke. Martial arts . . .?’ He laughed and slowly shook his head to cover his embarrassment. ‘A good one, what? It certainly had you fooled. Personally I’ve always thought a good jab to the stomach with my stick does the trick just as well. It disables the buggers by robbing them of breath, you know. Not that I’ve ever had to use it.’
Nick did know.
Folding the newspaper his father threw it on the table and pushed back his chair. ‘Right, I’m off then, I’ve got an appointment with my tailor before my meeting with the bank’s board of directors. In case we don’t see each other for a day or two don’t forget your luncheon engagement, Nicholas. I’m very keen that you should get this position . . . especially when I went to so much trouble to set it up. Apparently, Colin Foggerty’s son is after it. Wasn’t he at school with you?’
Michael Foggerty was short and plump. He was friendly, but had a rather ingratiating manner. ‘Foggerty comes from Irish stock. Doesn’t his family still have property there?’
His father chuckled. ‘So he does, Nicholas. How sharp of you to remember. Be sure to work that into the conversation with Bethuen. He has definite opinions where the Irish are concerned.’
And unfortunately, none of them were good. Nicholas sighed and reached for the newspaper before the door was completely shut. With some distaste he delicately lifted a blob of rough-cut marmalade from it with the blade of his knife and flicked it at the portrait of his mother, which hung over the fireplace. It landed somewhere on the former countess’s scarlet gown, where it blended perfectly.
Turning to the page where the felon was featured, he chuckled. On consideration, far from being exposed by this poor likeness, Nicholas should feel insulted, since it was nothing like him.
Amused, he began to compose a letter to The Times, drawing himself up to his full height and spitting out in a pompous manner:
