by Sara Seale
At eleven o’clock Sophie yawned and said she was going to bed, and that something cold was laid for Sarah in the dining room.
“She ought to be back by now, it’s been a tiring day,” said James, and at the same time the telephone bell rang.
“Yes?” said James, lifting the receiver. “Yes, this is Fane speaking ... Where? ... How long ago? ... I see ... Thanks very much, Tommy.” He put down the receiver and turned angrily to Sophie. “That was Noakes ringing from the Skylark. Sarah was there with a crowd of horse-copers she picked up at the fair, and she went off with de Pinto when they closed. Tommy says he was more than usually drunk. I thought I’d stopped all that business. Really, the child is a menace! Where’s this studio, Sophie? I’d better go and see if she’s there, and this time I shall make things very clear to Mr. de Pinto.”
He felt unusually angry with Sarah. Things had been going well lately, and he thought he had scotched most of the village gossip, but he could see plainly enough the sort of talk that would filter through the stables and eventually to higher sources. He drove fast down the main road and through the village, where he stopped and tried to sort out Sophie’s directions. He didn’t want to have to ask in the village. It was unnecessary to add the further delight of an angry guardian in pursuit of his ward to the stories that would be circulating tomorrow.
He passed the narrow lane which led down to de Pinto’s studio and had gone several miles out of his way before he realised his mistake and turned the Bentley round. But before he reached the turning he saw her. She was standing in the road, a small, rather disconsolate figure, and she was thumbing him for a lift.
He pulled up and opened the door. In the darkness she hadn’t recognised the car. She began in a jerky strained voice:
“Could you please take me as far as—”
“Get in,” said James grimly.
In the light which he suddenly switched on, her young face looked curiously shocked and dazed. When she realised who he was, she went still whiter, whispered, “J.B.!” and falling into the seat beside him, buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
“Is your precious Pinto still up? We might as well get this thing settled once and for all,” James said, turning off the light.
She raised her head and pleaded brokenly:
“Not now—please not now. I can’t go back there—I can’t go back there ever ... I don’t want to see him again.”
The anger went out of James. He switched off his engine and took Sarah into his arms.
“So that’s it, is it?” he said gently. “I was afraid something of the sort would happen sooner or later.”
She snuggled up against him in the darkness, finding a comfort she hadn’t expected. He asked no questions then, but let her cry, until gradually the mixture of fright and shame went out of her sobbing and he felt her small body relax against him.
“Better?” he asked then, and found her a handkerchief. “Good. We’ll go home.”
Neither of them spoke again until they reached the house. James opened the door of his study and pushed Sarah inside. “No one will disturb us here. I’ll go and see what they’ve left for you.”
“I don’t want anything, truly. I couldn’t eat,” she protested, but he only said: “Oh, yes, you could. It’ll make you feel better,” and went away and left her.
Sarah looked round the little room which had for her always been associated with Long John, and felt the tears starting again. Here John Silver had spent most of his time, pigging it in the smallest room in the house rather than bother with a more formal routine. Sarah in her childhood had shared many meals in here with the old man, sitting happily amongst the litter with which he had always surrounded himself.
She remembered Sophie once saying in rare exasperation: “I can’t think why you ever bought this large house, John, when all you really want is a pigsty.”
It had been true. John Silver had bought the house to satisfy some desire in him to have something to show for his money, but his habit of living, his methods of bringing up a child, had been as rough as any labourers.
Sarah sat down in one of the deep leather chairs and surveyed the room’s unfamiliar neatness with rueful eyes. The G.I. had wrought many changes at Fallow, not all of which she liked, but there was perhaps something to be said for routine. At least you knew where you were.
He came back then carrying a tray and a half-bottle of champagne which he set down on a table beside Sarah.
“Come along now, you can manage some cold chicken,” he said. “You’ll find it makes an enormous difference, so have a try. Emotional scenes on an empty stomach are always quite disastrous.”
He opened the champagne, and poured her out a glass.
“Drink it up, now; it’ll do you good.”
She sipped the champagne, looking at him uncertainly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, sitting down in the chair opposite her. “Don’t you like it?”
A smile wavered for a moment at the corners of her mouth. “It all seems so queer,” she said, “Drinking champagne, I mean, like a celebration. I didn’t expect—”
“You mean you think a beating’s more appropriate,” he remarked a little grimly. “I don’t mind telling you that if you’d been a boy, I would probably have given you one. You richly deserved it.”
“Yes, J.B., I know,” she said meekly.
His face softened.
“All right, I won’t rub it in. I think you’ve learnt your lesson. What happened?”
“Must I tell you?”
For a brief moment fear touched him. “Yes, I think so,” he said quietly.
She took a good gulp of champagne, then began to pick nervously at the chicken.
“I know I shouldn’t have gone to the Skylark,” she began hurriedly. “But we were all celebrating Jimmy Hunter’s skill at the shooting range. Pinto was there. It was rather hot and noisy in the pub, so Pinto said why not come back to the studio for a bit where we could talk. I was rather glad—they were all a bit drunk. Pinto was drunk too, but I’m used to him. Well, we—we went back to the studio and I was excited and stupid. He—he talked a lot of nonsense about the fire of youth, and a state of exaltation, and something about waiting for the right moment and—and being ready for love and—”
“Yes?” said James as she faltered.
“—then he started kissing me and I couldn’t get away—he was like an animal—it was horrible.”
She saw again de Pinto’s transformed face, felt his hot, drink-sodden breath on her skin, the greedy fingers fumbling at her breasts, and shut her eyes.
“Is that all?” said James’s voice from a long way off.
“All?” She looked at him in astonishment, then the colour flooded her pale face. “Oh, I see—I’m sorry if I was dense. Yes, J.B., that’s all.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t really know quite what to say to you, Sarah,” he began, reaching for his pipe. “You seem so curiously unaware in lots of ways. I hold no brief for de Pinto, but it wasn’t altogether the man’s fault, you know. You’ve been simply asking for this sort of trouble by your behaviour. It’s only surprising to me that it hasn’t happened before.”
“He always seemed so different,” she said miserably. “He used to talk by the yard about this sort of thing, but he always treated me rather like a child.”
“He was only biding his time,” said James gently. “He probably got a great kick out of postponing what to him was a perfectly natural climax to your relationship. You’re young, Sarah, but you’re very attractive and you really musn’t go around with your eyes shut in this dangerous fashion.”
She looked interested.
“Do you find me attractive, J.B.?” she asked naively.
He smiled.
“Oh, yes. I’m human like anyone else, but I happen to know you rather better, so don’t start trying your tricks on me. You’re a bit of a minx, I fear, Sarah Silver.”
“O
h, am I?” she said, and added: “But you do find me attractive? I’d like you to like me.”
There was no coquetting this time in her question, and he answered seriously:
“I like you, Sarah. I like your honesty and your generosity, and I like what I think you can be when you’ve shed all this foolishness. For that reason I hate all this talk that’s going about and I want to stop it. If you’d listened to me in the first place, you might have been spared this unpleasant experience. Another time when you feel I’m just playing the heavy guardian, remember de Pinto and be warned! That’s all I’m going to say to you on the subject. We’ll both forget it ever happened. Now finish your chicken, like a good child.”
“Thank you,” said Sarah humbly. “You’ve been very good about it, J.B. You see, the trouble is, no one liked Long John very much, so I think they don’t like me.”
“That’s nonsense,” said James briskly. “That’s only because neither of you have ever bothered with your neighbours.”
“No,” she said, wrinkling up her nose. “It isn’t only that. People cold-shouldered Long John. There was a man called Handley Something years and years ago who ruined a lot of people. Some of the people here lost their money because Long John had persuaded them originally to speculate, and they felt he could have got them out in time before everything crashed.” Here was a fresh danger. If the gossip mongers got hold of the truth of that old scandal there would be the devil to pay.
“What do you know about Handley Grey?” he asked her quietly.
She swallowed the last piece of chicken and leaned back in her chair.
“Handley Grey—was that his name?” she said indifferently. “I don’t know anything about him—he died in prison years and years ago. I only know he was a friend of Long John’s and people rather held him responsible for some reason or other. I suppose because he didn’t lose his money. Oh, J.B.! Your father’s crash—was it the same man?”
“Yes. He ruined a good many people, I’m afraid.”
She looked at him with troubled eyes.
“But you haven’t held it against Long John or me?”
“Why on earth should I? It’s got nothing in the world to do with you.”
She yawned.
“I’m sleepy. I think the champagne has gone to my head.”
“Bed for you, my child,” he said, and getting up, pulled her gently to her feet.
Her face was white with weariness, and the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose stood out clearly. She blinked up at him drowsily and put both arms round his neck.
“You’re nice, J.B.,” she said sleepily, and rubbed her cheek against his chin. “So much nicer than anyone else. I think I’m in love with you.”
He smiled above her head, but for a moment he held, her closer.
“Champagne does strange things on a tired stomach,” he said with laughter in his voice. “Go to bed, Sarah. Tomorrow everything will be in its right perspective again. Good night.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Goo’ night, dear J.B. I’m sorry you were poor. I’m sorry all the other people were poor. I’ll make it all up to you!” she said, and went off sleepily and slightly unsteadily to bed.
Sarah didn’t appear for breakfast the next morning and Sophie looked reproachfully at James.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” she sighed. “I suppose you hauled her over the coals last night, and now we’ll have trouble. You should have let me come down, James. A man doesn’t understand a young girl’s temperament.”
James looked amused.
“I think I understand Sarah’s temperament very well,” he said. “Don’t fuss, Sophie, and—I shouldn’t mention last night, or de Pinto, if I were you. I rather think Sarah wants to forget that episode.”
“Yes, James,” said Sophie meekly, and he left her wondering with almost painful curiosity how he had dealt with that particular situation.
Later in the morning James wandered out on to the terrace.
It was the first day of September, and already there was the smell of approaching autumn in the air, but the morning was bright and warm with that clear brilliance which heralds the end of summer. He walked down to the pool, wondering if Sarah was feeling awkward at meeting him after last night, when he saw her standing under the waterfall.
She hailed him without embarrassment and flung herself into the water, kicking and splashing like a young trout. James stood and watched her and presently stooped down at the water’s edge and held out a hand.
“Better come out now,” he said, “it’s getting a bit late in the year for fresh-water bathing.”
She took his hand and pulled herself up beside him.
“It’s lovely,” she said. And the sun’s as warm as anything.”
She threw herself down on the grass and peeled off her cap, shaking .out her long hair. In the brief white bathing-suit, her slender body still had the immature angles of extreme youth. She looked about fifteen.
“Talk to me,” she said, rolling over on to her face, and he sat down beside her on the grass.
“J.B.,” she said suddenly, “did I say anything funny last night?”
He couldn’t see her face, which was buried on her arms, wholly hidden by the thick red hair.
“The champagne went to your head a little, but that was my fault,” he told her kindly.
“Oh!” She paused. “Then I might have said something funny. If I did, you wouldn’t misunderstand, would you?”
A faint smile touched the corners of his clean-shaven lips.
“No, Sarah,” he said gently, “I didn’t misunderstand anything. It had been a tiring day and an emotional evening to finish with. Nothing will be held against you.”
She looked up, shaking the hair out of her eyes.
“You’re a dear, J.B.,” she said. “I don’t know what I did without you before.”
“Not so sorry now I came home?”
“No, I’m glad. Somehow it seems as if you’ve always been here. I don’t want to drive you away any more. I hope you’ll stay.” Her wide eyes looked at him most appealingly.
“That’s nice of you. I was beginning to get quite nervous as to what methods you would use next!”
She caught the bantering note in his voice and sighed sharply.
“You think I’m a child, don’t you?” she said. “Am I an awful nuisance, J.B.?”
“You’re something of a problem,” he replied with humour. “But you’ll keep me young.”
“You’re not old,” she said. “You’re just right. Poor Daphne!”
“Why poor Daphne?” he asked, a little puzzled by her manner.
“Because now she can’t have you,” she said. “With my help she might have had a chance. But she’s awfully dull, really, isn’t she?”
He laughed.
“Absurd child!” he said. “Did you seriously think you could manage it all? I told you, when I want a wife I’ll do my own choosing.”
“You haven’t anyone in mind, have you?” she asked with alarm.
“Not a soul! Can’t think of anyone who’d have me, can you?” She didn’t answer and he thought she looked a little blue about the lips.
“You stayed in too long,” he said sharply. “There’s quite a nip in the air today. Better go in and get dressed.”
He got up, pulling her after him, and as he did so she stumbled and caught hold of him.
“All right?” he asked, but he felt her body go limp as she doubled up, leaning against him.
He lowered her quickly on to the grass again and knelt beside her.
“I’m all right,” she said faintly. “I just felt giddy.”
Her face looked very pinched and the skin had a faint blue tinge which alarmed James. She began to shiver and he took off his coat and wrapped it round her.
“I’ll carry you back to the house,” he said, but she protested:
“No, let me stay here a minute. I’ll be all right.”
Already the colour was coming back
to her face, and her lips looked less blue.
“Has this ever happened before?” he asked. She shook her head. “Well, I daresay it’s the cold water. You gave me quite a fright.”
“Did I, J.B.? I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me do it.” She sat up and took a deep breath. “I’m all right now. I think I’ll go in.”
They walked slowly back to the house, James’s arm round her shoulders.
“Take it easy for the rest of the day,” he advised her. “You’re overtired.”
But by lunchtime she was as usual and busy trying to persuade James to let her drive the Bentley.
For the next fortnight James’s task was easy. There was an unwonted meekness in Sarah which made him suspect a new variation on the same theme. Sarah hadn’t given him the Dutiful Ward pose yet. It took him some time to realise that he was taking Pinto’s place.
Pinto had been Sarah’s only confidant for the past year. Now Pinto was finished, and it seemed perfectly natural to Sarah to transfer her problems to James. There had been the added delight, of course, of knowing that the studio was forbidden territory, but it was much more comfortable to have someone in your own home who took an interest.
James found himself confronted with all sorts of minor problems. The Bakers, for instance. The Bakers had noticed a change in Sarah since her guardian had returned and became hurt and stuffy because they saw less of her. It really distressed Sarah to be told by Jake that they were no longer good enough for her.
James suspected that the Bakers were principally missing the many material benefits they had derived from their association with Fallow, but all he said to Sarah was:
“Sometimes one outgrows friendships, Sarah. As one grows older, one finds one’s own level. I don’t think yours is the Bakers’, somehow.”
But Sarah was troubled. Jake’s remarks had stung. Sarah had a tender conscience where her friends were concerned, and there was another aspect, Jake, who was now embarked on his first job as a garage hand, seemed suddenly to have grown up, too, and under his sulky, ungracious manner, she thought she detected the familiar signs of calf-love.
She told James seriously: “I think he’s getting fond of me. What shall I do?”
