Cloud Castle

by Sara Seale

  “Come on, Judy, we’re superfluous here, I think I’ve got some business to attend to in Knockferry. You might as well come with me.”

  “Why not take me instead?” said Marcia quickly. “I can see about those coloured sheets.”

  “You hate market day—remember? And I really think, in view of the large supply of ancient but excellent Irish linen we still possess, that coloured sheets are redundant, even though they may relieve the gloom of the four-poster,” he replied with a faint twinkle and, taking Judy by the hand, swung her out of the room with him.

  While Raff attended to his business he left Judy to wander round the town with its stalls and pens erected in the streets, blocking any traffic whose drivers were ill-informed enough to try to get through. She had been to Knockferry on market day only that once with Noel, and the noise and bustle and the gaudy colours of the cheapjack wares on the stalls were still a novelty.

  When she tired of the market she looked in shop windows. There was not a great deal that Knockferry could offer to excite more extravagant tastes, despite Marcia’s assumption that coloured sheets could be obtained there, but in a draper’s window Judy saw a long cotton housecoat invitingly draped on a stand, and went in to inquire. It was cheap and badly made on closer inspection, but the effect was good, even tried over her dress and cardigan, and she could afford the price of something that might last the summer and then be thrown away. She bought it with a slight feeling of defiance.

  She arrived at her meeting-place with Raff breathless and a little dishevelled, her bag and parcel clutched tightly under her arm. The new housecoat had several times been in danger of being knocked into the mud by passers-by intent on more serious business, and the crowded streets, besides offering further distractions, had proved difficult to negotiate.

  “Am I late?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows at the childish anxiety in her voice.

  “What matter if you are?” he replied, taking her arm to pilot her back to the car. “It’s a holiday, my dear, and I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself. You look a little as though you’d met the tougher portion of the crowd!”

  She put up a hand to smooth her hair and dropped her parcel. He stooped to pick up and smiled indulgently as he tucked it under his own arm. She would not know, he supposed, that in her yellow dress, with her red hair flying, and the tiny freckles standing out on her white skin, she presented a picture which touched and warmed him after his unsatisfactory dealings with bank and solicitors. Just so had Kathy come to Knockferry on market days and enjoyed the familiar sights of the little town while she waited to meet him and drive home in the evening, chattering of the day’s delights until she fell silent under the spell of his gentle love-making.

  “What have you been buying?” he asked, tapping the parcel.

  “A housecoat,” she said, trotting beside him to keep up with his long stride. “A dressing-gown, really, only long and sort of fluttery, like that thing Marcia wears—only, of course, not at all grand, like hers.”

  “I’ve never thought of you as a person who was conscious of clothes,” he said, amusement in his voice, and she replied with alight asperity:

  “That’s because you like to think of me as a child. Don’t you realise, Raff, that in these days young girls grow up very early? Why, look at the child brides, and the eloping teenagers the papers are full of! Besides...” she added, because she felt that to herself at any rate she owed an explanation for a flippant extravagance, “... I couldn’t bear that old red dressing-gown any longer! It did nothing for me, except to cover me and keep me warm, and supposing the house caught fire!”

  “How absurd you are!” he said, and when they had reached the car, he tossed the parcel into the back and held the door for her while she settled herself in the passenger’s seat

  “I don’t think of you as a child, Judy,” he said, taking his place behind the wheel. “You have the enviable gift of combining youth with wisdom—and a queer sort of understanding, too.”

  “Queer?”

  “Well, new to me, perhaps, I haven’t much experience of young girls, you see. One expects them to be callow, without much thought for the future, I suppose.”

  “That’s just your avuncular complex! Kathy wasn’t callow, was she?”

  He smiled.

  “Compared with you, I think she might have been,” he said. “But I was very much younger then. I didn’t look for hidden depths and worldly knowledge.”

  She was suddenly silent, twisting her fingers in her lap, aware that her hands were dirty and probably smelt of the farmyard. Was that Marcia’s hold on him, then, she wondered, the hidden depths of astute femininity, the worldly knowledge of a bored sophisticate; qualities which were new to him and, like all fresh experiences, disturbing in their novelty?

  “Shall we go back by Lough Creagh and visit the up again?” he said, watching her downcast profile, and thinking that in some way he must have blundered.

  “Oh, yes!” she cried, her face immediately alight with pleasure, and he smiled again as he started the engine and began to edge the car out from the haphazardly parked vehicles that blocked the road.

  III

  All the way back she chattered excitedly about the things she had seen; the irresistible fairings decking the stalls, the inconsequent babble, the beasts, the smells and the hats.

  “Oh, the hats!” she exclaimed. “Is there anywhere else where you see such hats, Raff?”

  “Probably not. We’re used to them, of course, and don’t think they’re so funny,” he said, but remembered that even Kathy, born and bred to the peculiarities of her countrymen, had found the hats funny.

  “Timsy wears one of yours. It’s like an apple dumpling turned up all round!”

  “Most likely my father’s, or even my grandfather’s. O’Rafferty headgear is handed down for generations among the tenants. What would you do in an office, Judy? I can’t see you there with your love of the soil, and sense of the ridiculous.”

  It was a sudden and uncomfortable reminder that she was, after all, only a subordinate to whom he had given an unexpected treat.

  “You’ve forgotten that I want to remain in Ireland,” she said in a rather flat voice. “There must be work for secretaries—or even just typists—in racing stables, or the big farms, or—or even another guest house.”

  He did not reply. They had reached the Plain of Cluny, that desolate stretch of moorland which had disquieted her the first time. It was more kindly now, with its softer hues of early summer, but there were still great patches of stony ground which yielded nothing from the soil, and the rocks and boulders stubbornly resisted moss and lichen alike. Judy shivered, as she had before, and as before, he asked if she was cold.

  “No,” she said, and thought, as then, that it was a coldness of the spirit that blew in from the Plain of Cluny.

  But at Lough Creagh the warmth returned; the little lough was more beautiful than ever with the changing season, and the water seemed an even deeper blue.

  “Let’s stay out here,” she cried, and without waiting for an answer kicked off the sandals she wore without stockings and ran down to the rim of silvery sand at the water s edge.

  Raff followed more slowly, conscious that he had, by some remark, disturbed the simple pattern of her enjoyment. He sat down on a sun-warmed rock to wait until she was ready to offer him again the confidence and companionship he had come to expect of her, and lazily filled a pipe while he watched her dig her toes in the sand, letting it run through them as he remembered he used to do himself, as a boy; then she tried the water, but withdrew her foot hastily, letting out a small scream, and ran, laughing, back to him.

  “Ooh, it’s cold!” she complained, and sat down at his feet in the heather.

  “Lake water is always deceptive. It has to be very hot to bathe with any enjoyment,” he said. “Have you recovered now?”

  “Recovered?”

  “Something I said upset you, I think. This is the second time you’ve shiver
ed coming over the plain and it’s a good deal warmer today. What was it?”

  “Something about the place, I suppose. It’s so desolate and bleak,” she answered evasively, and, leaning back on her hands, stretched her legs out to dry her feet in the sun.

  “Better use this,” he said, tossing her his handkerchief, and when she made no move to use it he got up and knelt beside her and began to dry them himself.

  “This is the second time I’ve dirtied a handkerchief for you, she said, and he looked up quickly, meeting her eyes with a long, grave look.

  “Judy...” he said “... that nice clean heart you talked about on that other occasion—did you know what you were saying, or were you really a little lightheaded?”

  “You said I was.”

  “Well, there seemed to be several unexplained matters mixed up in your mind just then. Something about Grogan and Noel and calling in the Garda. Is it a wonder I thought you lightheaded?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Would you like to tell me the rather incoherent story of the two tallboys again?” he asked with such sudden directness that she wondered if he already suspected something of the truth of what she had tried to warn him. But Noel had tied her hands now. She could not, because of Marcia, bring an accusation which would not only hurt Raff but brand herself as a troublemaker who told tales for spite.

  “Forget it,” she answered briefly. “I’d got mixed up in the first place, I expect, and anyway, Raff, you shouldn’t throw my unguarded remarks at me when you know very well I’d had a nasty fright and Granny Malone had put the ‘fluence on me.”

  “Very well,” he said, gravely studying her face. “If you’re going to evade me by talking nonsense about poor Granny, we’d better leave it for the moment. You’ve become quite good at answering in riddles, haven’t you?”

  “Self-defence,” she retorted. “You often talk in riddles.”

  “Do I?” He sounded surprised, and resumed his seat on the rock and took up his pipe again. “If I do, then perhaps mine is a form of defence, too.”

  “From me?” It was her turn to sound surprised, and he nodded unsmilingly.

  “From myself too, perhaps. At my age one becomes wary of impulses, of mistaken hopes and desires.”

  “Riddles again,” she said, and added a little crossly; “Old Uncle O’Rafferty and all!”

  He laughed, but there was now a faint weariness in his eyes.

  “One of my defences, most likely,” he said. “I assure you, Judy, I don’t always feel avuncular, despite your accusations.”

  “Raff—” she began hesitantly, “there’s so much about you I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, I expect there is,” he replied, and it could have been a warning that she had misunderstood him. “You upset a good many things for me when you came here, you see.”

  “Because I reminded you of Kathy, you mean?”

  “No, that was only to begin with. You are not alike at all, really, except for your youth and simplicity. But Kathy had the simplicity of a guarded childhood and no very great desire to explore outside her own appointed sphere. Yours, I think, is the true simplicity that springs from a humble heart and loving kindness. You have the enviable qualities, Judy—don’t hanker after the meretricious gifts of others.”

  It was a strange little speech for him to have made, she thought, pledged as he was to a future with a woman who could give him none of these things, and seeing the faint disillusionment in his eyes, she said gently:

  “If you’re in—in any sort of mess, Raff, it’s not too late. I mean, it’s better to make a clean break than get further involved.”

  “I’m involved with my financial affairs at present—not quite a mess as yet, but pretty near it,” he answered, deliberately ignoring her meaning.

  “Oh!” She sounded disappointed, but glancing at him quickly, she saw the sudden lines of worry and tiredness in his face.

  “Your interviews with the bank and the lawyers didn’t go well?” she asked.

  “They went damn badly and I’m already in the red,” he replied a little grimly, and she drew her bare knees up to her chin, clasping her arms round them, and leaned forward to listen.

  “How badly are you in the red?” she asked with practical unconcern. Her father, when he had been alive, was frequently in that state; it just took adjustment and rigorous cutting down to get clear again.

  “Nothing that can’t be rectified with care,” he said, “but it means I have no margin to work on as I had when we first started this business. I’ve already sold out what capital my solicitors will let me lay hands on, and unless we cut down very considerably on expenditure for the guest house, I’m broke.”

  Judy felt her anger beginning to rise.

  “It’s Noel!” she exclaimed. “All these wild schemes for turning Slyne into an imitation of any flashy road-house! That lighting plant, and all the wiring, for instance—supposed to be done more cheaply because Grogan provided the contact. I came across the receipt in Noel’s file the other day and it seemed a needless extravagance to me when lamps are much nicer.” She mentioned a figure that made him raise his eyebrows.

  “Are you sure of that amount?” he asked sharply, and she stared.

  “Perfectly. I can show you when we get home, if you like. Why?”

  “Simply that I remember writing a cheque for considerably more than that. Grogan must have made a mistake in sending the receipt.”

  She rested her cheek on her knees, letting the hair fall across her face, hiding it from him.

  “Didn’t you keep your own receipts until I came here?” she asked.

  “Not those kind of things. I simply wrote the cheques. It was Noel’s job as manager to file the receipts.”

  “I see. So you never saw the receipts.”

  “No. Once the bills were paid I had no further interest in them.”

  “Oh, Raff! Can’t you see?” she exclaimed, suddenly flinging back her head. “He must have done this every time there was some large outgoing. He’s only got to persuade Grogan or some not very scrupulous tradesman to fiddle the statement, and when you’ve paid up they share the perks and produce the correct receipt.”

  The skin seemed to tighten over the bones of his ugly face and she remembered the same illusion the night he had found her in the wrecked car.

  “Why don’t you get rid of him?” she demanded, too angry and upset to watch her words any longer. “I know—or at least I’m told—that perks are legitimate pilfering among hotel staff, but at this rate you can’t hope to run a small guest house with any profit. Why not get rid of him, or at least have a showdown and tell him it’s got to stop?”

  His eyes as they rested on her distressed face were curiously gentle.

  “You think I’m a weak fool who has just let things slide, don’t you, Judy?” he said.

  “Neither weak nor a fool—just too trusting. You can’t deal with matters you know nothing about.”

  “But I did know,” he said gently, and saw her eyes widen. “Not about things like that cheque to Grogan, perhaps, but I guessed there was some sort of fiddle going on between them. Grogan was the contact man for too many introductions to fresh trade for my liking. That’s why I object to him coming to the house.”

  “But why did you put up with it?”

  He shrugged.

  “A certain amount of commission is to be winked at, I imagine, besides—”

  “Besides, there was Marcia,” she finished for him.

  Yes, there was Marcia,” he replied gravely, and got to his feet. “Come along, my dear, we might as well go home. It hasn’t been a very happy ending to our stolen holiday, I’m afraid. Put your shoes on.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, struggling with the buckles of her sandals.

  “Nothing very spectacular, I’m afraid. Just acquaint them with the fact that I’m nearly cleaned out, and then it’s up to them.”

  “Marcia wouldn’t have anything to do with
shabby little deals,” Judy said trying valiantly to ease his disillusion, even though she might have her own doubts in the matter.

  How nice you are, Judy,” he replied, tenderness touching his mouth. “No, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  They drove back to Slyne in comparative silence, and as they reached the bit of road which bounded the shores of the lough, she said suddenly:

  “If you were up to Noel’s tricks, didn’t it occur to you he and I—” she broke off, and he said gently:

  “Were not amusing yourselves as I thought?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps I didn’t really believe it.”

  “You behaved as if you did.”

  “Yes, well—jealousy does strange things to one’s reasoning powers, Judy.”

  “You—jealous of me!”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes—yes, it does rather,” she replied, hugging her arms about her thin body, and then they were at the gates, and the dogs ran, barking, to meet them, and Marcia came out under the stone portico and stood leaning gracefully against one of the slender doric columns which supported it. She looked, thought Judy, the perfect picture of the lady of the house welcoming home her husband. She even reached up and kissed Raff lightly on the cheek as he went into the house.

  He called a conference after dinner and they all repaired to the study where privacy could be assured.

  “Why the solemn conclave?” Noel asked, sulky at being expected to discuss business after dinner. “And shall I order the cocktail cabinet through Grogan? He can always guarantee quick delivery—and Marcia was thinking it would be better if she sent to Dublin for the sheets. Knockferry’s hardly likely to run to fancy bed-linen.”