A House for Sharing

by Isobel Chace

  She carried the lot into the sitting-room and sat down under the lamp to start sorting them out.

  “What’s that you’ve got there?” Rupert asked her, his interest caught by the riot of colour of the silks.

  “They’ve got a bit mixed up,” she said, self-conscious that he should have noticed what she was about.

  He took a pile of the silks from her and began to sort them, rapidly and with confidence, as he managed everything he undertook.

  “What are you making?” Félicité enquired, bored.

  Rosamund smiled.

  “A dress for the daughter of a friend of mine. I’m afraid she’ll have grown out of it by the time I’ve finished, though.”

  Jacob chuckled.

  “I should think so too!” he said. “How long have you been working on that?”

  Rosamund refused to be put out.

  “It’ll do for the next one,” she said calmly. “I’m not worried.”

  “It’s pretty,” Félicité volunteered.

  Rosamund held it out for her inspection, unwilling to snub one of the few attempts at friendliness that Félicité had ever made towards her. She was so tired that the colours blurred before her eyes, but she would not give in. If only she had slept more the night before, she might have got over the sleepless night of the fire more easily. She smothered a yawn and tried desperately to pull herself together. The Frenchwoman wouldn’t stay more than another hour, surely?

  Félicité glanced quickly at the back of the stitching in the manner of women all over the world, and was impressed.

  “You know what you’re doing!” she commented briefly.

  “Her mother taught her,” Jacob said with satisfaction.

  Rosamund yawned again.

  “One of my few ladylike accomplishments,” she said sleepily. She became aware of Rupert’s eyes on her, watching her closely, and made one last effort to force herself into full wakefulness.

  “You don’t need many with the looks of an angel,” he taunted her gently.

  She flushed angrily.

  “That isn’t much help!” she said bitterly.

  He smiled.

  “Isn’t it?” he asked.

  Of course he enjoyed teasing her,, she knew that! But she couldn’t help rising to it. If her looks were any good to her they would have attracted him, wouldn’t they? She realised, aghast, where her thoughts were leading her and drew back hastily. She would not be led into those dangerous, if beguiling, fancies ever again! She took up her needle, threaded it with care, and started work on one corner of the minute garment she was making.

  How it happened she would never know. She had a sensation of warmth and delicious comfort, and then someone was fiddling with her ears. She made a brief gesture of protest, and somebody chuckled. It couldn’t have been Rupert because he didn’t even like her very much, so it must have been Jacob. Only it was puzzling, because Jacob would never have thought that they might have got in her way when she was sleeping. Whoever he was, he took off her shoes as well and covered her up with the sheet that had been turned back ready for her.

  “It’s a pity to crumple up your dress, but I suppose we can’t help that!” the voice said.

  Rosamund frowned. “Certainly not!” she agreed primly. She wished he would go away and leave her to sleep. But when he did go she felt suddenly lonely and she hugged the sheet very closely about her and wondered where Félicité could have disappeared to so suddenly. But she didn’t wonder for long. She was asleep again almost before she had finished forming the thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SOME time during the night the cold disturbed her. Rosamund got up to shut her window, unconsciously a little excited by the sudden drop in temperature. She was shocked to find she was still in her dress and hastily undressed herself, puzzling over how it could have happened to her. She remembered clearly watching Rupert’s deft hands sorting out her silks, and then—She blushed vividly in the darkness. She couldn’t have been so silly as to have gone to sleep! The thought made her tingle with unwonted embarrassment. What had they all thought of her? she wondered. And who had put her to bed?

  She got back into bed and pulled the bedclothes tightly around her. Perhaps she could ask Jacob about it in the morning. It must have been her stepfather! She was almost sure it had been he, almost sure she could remember his voice as he had said goodnight. And yet that niggling little doubt kept coming between her and that comfortable certainty. She was still worrying about it when she went back to sleep.

  When she awoke the second time it was already day. The rain was beating hard against her window, the water seeping in through the cracks and down in streaks along the wall. She got lazily out of bed and spent a while watching the rain splashing on the patio down below. So much for all her hard work, she thought. She thought she heard Jacob going into the bathroom and called out to detain him.

  “Let me wash first, Jacob. I’m late!”

  A very masculine chuckle answered her.

  "Hurry up, then!” It was Rupert.

  She tied the cord of her dressing-gown securely about her and opened her bedroom door cautiously. He stood and watched her as she walked the whole way down the narrow balcony towards the old harem and the bathroom.

  “Sleep well?” he asked her sweetly.

  She could feel her cheeks colouring, but she held her head high. “Very well, thank you,” she said rather breathlessly.

  “I’m glad.” And to her surprise he sounded as though he really meant it. “Why don’t you have breakfast in bed? It would do Jacob and me good to wait on you for a change.”

  She cast him a startled glance.

  “Oh no,” she said. “No, thank you. I’d—I’d rather get up.” She gained the bathroom and turned the cold tap full on, splashing the water up on to her face. When she had finished she was shivering, but at least she was fully awake. Quickly, she finished her toilet and lit the gas so that her stepfather wouldn’t have to do it when he came along to shave. As she stood upright again she was pleased to notice that even the very last traces of stiffness had gone from her shoulders. She felt fine again.

  It had stopped raining by the time she had finished dressing and a watery yellow sun appeared, lighting up the world with a vivid radiance.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Jacob said as he sat down for breakfast. She nodded her head.

  “Do you think it really has broken?” she asked. “That this is the beginning of the winter?”

  He smiled.

  “Shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “There’s still a lot more rain in the skies to come down, though. I’d get the washing done if I were you, same time as Félicité does hers.”

  Rosamund stared at him.

  “Since when were you interested in the washing?” she twitted him.

  Jacob remained quite unperturbed.

  “Not ever!” he retorted. “But I thought, since Félicité is coming over with hers—”

  Rosamund’s eyes met his steadily.

  “When?” she asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Why, you remember!” His eyes twinkled at her. “No, perhaps after all you don’t! But she’s coming anyway.”

  She bit her lip hard.

  “I meant to ask you about that,” she began. “I’m sorry if I spoilt everyone’s evening.”

  His lip trembled slightly and she wondered what it was that could have excited him about her going to sleep in front of them all. “You were tired, dear,” he said gently. “We all knew that.”

  “And was it you—?” she persisted gently.

  “Now look here,” he protested, “I’m getting to be an old man—”

  “So it was Rupert.” Her own lip was trembling now and she bit it again, resolutely, to stop it.

  “You don’t have to mind,” he said uncomfortably.

  “I don’t mind!” she retorted unconvincingly. “I don’t mind at all! I just wondered who it was I had to thank for taking the trouble.
”

  Her stepfather eyed her thoughtfully.

  “For somebody who doesn’t mind you’re making quite a fuss, aren’t you?” he said shrewdly.

  Rosamund took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologised.

  “No need,” he responded immediately. “At least your abrupt withdrawal from the party made that woman go home! Even Rupert could see the advantage of that!”

  Rosamund smiled at his satisfaction despite herself.

  “Could he, Dad?” she asked him.

  “Of course he could!” Jacob snorted. “You weren’t the only tired-out person there last night, let me tell you! We were all out on our feet—only you succeeded in proving it. Even to her!”

  Rosamund chuckled.

  “And that’s always something!” she agreed smugly.

  They were both laughing when Rupert came into the kitchen, but Rosamund stopped as soon as she saw him and busied herself, quite needlessly, with serving up his breakfast. She would have to get over this dreadful coyness, she told herself huffily, and repeated the word coyness, because she didn’t much like the sound of it and it hurt.

  But Rupert didn’t seem to notice. He ate his breakfast with one eye on the clock and then got up with a distracted air and said he had to be off.

  “What are your plans for the day?” he shot at Rosamund as he went through the door.

  She hesitated.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He stood there, patiently waiting for her to sort out her plans in her own mind.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “Félicité is bringing her washing—”

  “This morning,” he agreed.

  “And this afternoon I shall take the train into Tunis and do the marketing,” she finished triumphantly.

  He nodded his head, briefly and finally.

  “Well, see that you don’t do anything more strenuous than that!” he said, and disappeared out to his car.

  “Well, whatever did he mean by that?” Rosamund demanded.

  Jacob laughed.

  “I guess he doesn’t mean to make a habit of carrying you to your bed!” he said dryly.

  Rosamund stiffened, wondering why such a little thing as that should be able to hurt her.

  “I should think not indeed!” she exclaimed, laughing.

  When Yamina came, setting the children down to play in the sunshine as usual, Rosamund suggested that they should scrub the floor of the patio after her efforts of the day before. The rain had softened the lime-wash and it was quite easy to get off with no more than a rag and bucket and water. Yamina set to with a will, exclaiming softly to herself that Rosamund shouldn’t have attempted such a task by herself. She had a way all of her own of washing floors, keeping her legs quite straight and weaving the cloth in and out of her feet. Rosamund preferred to get right down on to her hands and knees, but she wasn’t so quick as the Arab woman and she laughingly, admitted as much to her. Yamina smiled shyly.

  “It is what one is accustomed to,” she replied softly. “In England you have a different kind of floor.”

  Rosamund longed to ask her how she knew, but her Arabic didn’t allow for any conversation beyond the bare necessities, and so she went back to work instead.

  They were still at it when Félicité arrived.

  “What a day!” she greeted her hostess. “Can your girl go out to the car and bring in my things? I’ll bet it rains before I’m half finished.”

  Rosamund looked at the sky also.

  “It seems all right now,” she said.

  Félicité tapped Yamina on the shoulder and sent her out to the car with a few words of guttural Arabic.

  “They never understand a word I say!” she complained loudly to Rosamund. “I learned what little I know in Egypt, and you’d think I was talking a different language!”

  “Well, it is a different dialect, isn’t it?” Rosamund said vaguely.

  “Is it?” Félicité studied, the other girl with sudden interest. “That’s just the sort of thing you would know,” she said at last. “You’re a much nicer person than I am, much as I am loath to admit it!”

  Rosamund smiled uncertainly.

  “I’m afraid I have to apologise for falling asleep on you last night,” she said quietly.

  Félicité frowned.

  “It was rather shattering!” she agreed. “The only person who stayed at all calm was that stepfather of yours. As far as I was concerned it was a fitting ending to a ghastly day! I was packed off quicker than I like to relate!”

  Rosamund laughed.

  “I am so sorry,” she apologised again. But Félicité dismissed the whole matter with a very French wave of the hand, and Rosamund thought it wiser to leave it at that.

  It seemed to her that Félicité was going to wash every garment she possessed. Yamina brought in pile after pile of clothing, looking sourer and sourer as she did so. Reluctantly she got out the enormous flat-bottomed clay bowl and started to fill it with water, sprinkling a packet of detergent into it.

  “Can she wash?” Félicité asked.

  Rosamund laughed and nodded.

  “She’s a marvel! I don’t know how she does it! With those asbestos chips and cold water she gets things far whiter than I can with hot water and an English powder!”

  Félicité considered the maid thoughtfully.

  “Then it must be me she doesn’t like,” she said finally. “Ah well, there’s nothing unusual in that! Let’s have a cup of coffee.”

  One way and another it seemed to take all morning to do Félicité’s washing. Yamina worked with increasing displeasure and even Rosamund began to wilt when it came to hanging out the long lines of wet clothes on the line in the yard.

  “What do you usually do with your washing?” she asked her guest wearily.

  Félicité searched in the bag for yet more pegs.

  “I do it in bits and pieces. I don’t move house every day, you know!”

  “Move house?” Rosamund stared at her blankly.

  “Yes, dear, move house,” Félicité repeated as though she were speaking to a backward child. She shrugged impatiently. “I suppose you were unconscious while I was making my dramatic announcement? I’m getting married.”

  Rosamund shut her eyes, allowing the wet clothing to hide her face from the Frenchwoman’s inquisitive view.

  “What?” she asked after a long moment.

  “As soon as I get all my belongings together and get a passage to France. He’ll be waiting for me at Marseilles.”

  “Rupert will be?” Rosamund was startled into asking.

  “No, not Rupert!” Félicité contradicted in a funny, high voice that sounded very close to tears. “I can bluff myself further than anyone else I know, but even I can see that he wouldn’t have me. No, this is an old friend of my husband’s—he’s even richer, if that’s possible! And he hasn’t got tiresome ideas about living anywhere but in Paris!”

  Rosamund unashamedly wiped away a tear with her bare hand. “I hope you’ll be very happy,” she said in a voice that wobbled shamefully.

  Félicité raised her eyebrows mockingly.

  “But what emotion, ma chere! I hadn’t thought that you would have been the one to cry at my news!”

  Rosamund laughed and wiped away her tears again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “And truly, I am so very glad for you!”

  Félicité’s mouth tightened and her nostrils flared.

  “How nice to be young and to still believe in romantic love!” she said sarcastically. “In ten years I expect to be a widow again—only richer and more secure! That’s what marriage means to me!” Which was one of the saddest and most shocking things that Rosamund had ever had said to her.

  In the end Felicity didn’t go until after lunch.

  “Just leave the things on the line,” she said brusquely. “I’ll collect them myself later on.”

  Rosamund looked doubtfully up at the sky.

  “It m
ay rain again,” she said.

  “Well, that’s my affair, isn’t it?” the Frenchwoman replied rudely. “I don’t need a nursemaid yet!”

  Rosamund counted up to five, very slowly, to herself.

  “Very well, I’ll leave them to you. I shall be in Tunis for the afternoon anyway, but you can always come in by the door in the gates.”

  Félicité nodded and got into her car. She started up the engine and let in the clutch with a suddenness that made the car leap forward. Two seconds later, without a single word of thanks to either Rosamund or Yamina, she was gone. The children, playing in the street, watched the car go past without much interest. They had already felt the first drops of the next shower of rain and their voices re-echoed in the courtyard as they hurried the younger ones back to their various homes.

  It was still spotting with rain when Rosamund made her way down the steep hill to the railway station. Normally she enjoyed the walk. The strange shapes of the white roofs below her fascinated her, the rounded ones especially that obviously covered those strange tunnel-like rooms that were so typical of the area. But today she hardly noticed them as she hurried down the steps to the rough side-road that led into the main street and cut off the longer corner when one was on one’s feet. Felicity’s news had given her something to think about. She couldn’t quite believe that it was exactly as the other girl had said it was, but one thing was very plain: Félicité would have taken Rupert if she had had the opportunity, but something he had said to her had killed that hope stone dead. And that was what was so odd! For Rosamund could have sworn that Rupert had only been waiting for the opportunity to ask her!

  The train was just coming in as she gained the platform. She got in by the nearest door and sat down on one of the wooden-slatted seats beside a heavily veiled woman. A small child peeped out at her from behind the voluminous covering and smiled toothily. She smiled back and, opposite, the father nodded his head with patriarchal satisfaction.