The Silver Sty

by Sara Seale

  “Not on J.B.,” said Sarah with decision. “Over my dead body, Peronel!”

  Peronel bent and kissed her, a rare gesture with her.

  “Funny child, aren’t you?” she said. “Stop looking like a ruffled kitten and lie down again and go to sleep. I must go and say good night to Bill. What are you doing tomorrow, by the way?”

  Sarah snuggled down among the pillows again.

  “J.B.’s giving me lunch,” she said with sleepy satisfaction. “I think I’ll ask him about Mrs. Rosenheim.”

  “Do,” said Peronel. “His reply might prove instructive. Good night, my child.”

  “Good night, darling, it’s been a heavenly evening.”

  Sarah was asleep long before Bill let himself quietly out of the flat with his latchkey.

  James called for Sarah at a quarter to one and was amused by her prompt decision as to where they should lunch.

  “Pirelli’s is the nicest place in town these days,” she told him, “and their Chicken Pirelli is a dream.”

  James privately thought Pirelli’s was congested and noisy, but they found a comparatively quiet corner, and Sarah went through the menu with gusto. Lobster Pirelli, Chicken Pirelli, Coupe Jacques Pirelli. Sarah had the palate of the very young, and ate her cream-laden dishes with frank enjoyment.

  James, over his more sober mixed grill, watched her with amusement. She was looking happy and vivid in her new green .trouser suit and she gave him a running commentary on their neighbours, her new clothes, the plays she had seen, the people she had met.

  Quite suddenly she put down her fork and said:

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had been engaged, J.B.?”

  For a moment he was taken aback, then he said frankly:

  “I didn’t think it would have been of the smallest interest to you.”

  “But of course it’s of interest,” she retorted. “Do you realise that you’re my lawful guardian and I hardly know anything about you?”

  He smiled.

  “Well, there isn’t much to know. We lost all our money when I was still at school and for years I had to struggle along on very little, which didn’t allow for excitements of many kinds. Clare found me a very unsatisfactory lover, I’m afraid.”

  “Because you were poor?”

  “Well, perhaps not entirely because I was poor. I think she found me dull and rather earnest. I expect I was. I couldn’t afford to do this sort of thing very often.”

  “And so,” said Sarah, scowling, “she went and married a nasty old man old enough to be her grandfather just for his money.”

  “Oh, well, Sarah, it was a long time ago. Let’s forget about it.”

  “Did you mind?”

  “Yes, I minded very much at the time.”

  “Is that why you stopped abroad for so long?”

  “Partly, I suppose.”

  “J.B.”—Sarah’s voice quivered a little—“were you awfully in love with her?”

  He saw that for some reason or other his answer mattered to her very much and he chose his words carefully.

  “Yes,” he said honestly, “at the time I was very much in love. Clare is beautiful, as you saw for yourself, but—I’ve no regrets now, Sarah, if that’s what’s troubling you. She’s still a beautiful woman, but I’m extremely thankful I’m not married to her.”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest. Does that satisfy you?”

  Sarah gave a long sigh as if some danger was safely passed, and her scowl vanished.

  “I bet she’s kicking herself now,” she remarked with satisfaction, and he laughed.

  “You’re delightfully human, Sarah,” he said. “And now that the question of my sordid past is settled, what would you like to do this afternoon?”

  “I think,” she said, “I’d like to walk. No one ever seems to walk in London.”

  “Well, well walk first up Bond Street, and stop at a jeweller’s,” said James unexpectedly. “You haven’t any jewellery, have you, Sarah?”

  “No,” said Sarah, looking surprised. “There’s never been anyone to give me any.”

  “That must be remedied,” he told her with a smile. “After all, what’s the good of a guardian if he doesn’t buy you a present from time to time?”

  His choice was a string of small but finely matched pearls with an unusual clasp of tiny emeralds and sapphires set in a flower design.

  “They’re an investment,” the jeweller told them, smiling discreetly at Sarah’s staggered expression at the price named, “and you won’t find another clasp like this in London. It was part of an old collection we bought and broke up. The design is very unusual.”

  James wrote a cheque for the very considerable amount, and thought a little wryly how different his relations with Clare would have been if he had been in this position three years ago.

  “Oh,” said Sarah as they left the shop. “I don’t know what to say. All that money! It will have to be birthday and Christmas presents rolled into one for the next five years!”

  “No,” said James, “it’s the first thing I’ve ever given you, so I wanted it to be good. A sort of guardian-to-ward present. No, Sarah, I see it in your eye!—You can’t embrace me in the middle of Bond Street—I’ll take your gratitude for granted!” They had tea, then she exclaimed she must hurry or she would be late as Mick Fennick was taking her out to dinner.

  “Fennick?” James raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty quick work. You only met him last night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but people seem to be like that in London,” she said ingenuously.

  James didn’t altogether like it. Fragments of Clare’s remarks came back to him, and for a moment he was tempted to tell her not to accept another invitation from Fennick. But it was a pity to spoil a good day. He was taking Sarah home in a few days’ time; it was unlikely that there would be any follow-up to the evening.

  “Well, enjoy yourself, and ’ware the champagne,” was all he said; and she grinned at him.

  “Below the belt, J.B.,” she said without rancour. “I shall wear my pearls and my new black chiffon.”

  When he next saw Sarah, however, and enquired idly how she had spent the evening, he was unprepared for her delighted cry of:

  “Oh, J.B., it was a wonderful evening! He took me gambling, and I won ten pounds. Just think of it! Ten whole pounds for watching a little ball spin round in a wheel!”

  “Where was this?” he asked sharply. They were drinking sherry in Peronel’s flat waiting for her to change before going out to dinner with James.

  “I don’t know. Some club or other he belongs to,” Sarah replied carelessly. “Mr. Fennick says I have the true gambler’s temperament, and am lucky as well. He’s going to take me again.”

  Here was a danger he hadn’t foreseen. He reflected a little grimly that it was only too likely that the child of Handley Grey might possess the true gambler’s temperament.

  “No, Sarah,” he said quickly. “You’re not to go.”

  “Why?” She looked surprised.

  “You’re much too young to be seen in gambling-places for one thing, and I don’t approve of gambling for another.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said a little crossly. “But it seems an awful pity when you can make money as easily as that.”

  She would have thought very little more of it, if she and David dancing together on her last night had not run into Mick Fennick as they were leaving.

  “Hullo!” he said. “I’m just going on for an hour at the tables. Why don’t you two join me? This little lady as a distinct flair.”

  “Would you like to, Sarah?” David asked.

  She hesitated. After all, she hadn’t promised the G.I., and she had the ten pounds she had won the other night.

  “Yes,” she said. David was with her and they needn’t stay long.

  But Sarah’s luck was in again. David soon stopped playing and stood and watched her, and she was aware at one time of Clare Rosenheim standing at Mick Fennick’s
elbow, looking at her with a curious expression.

  “Your luck’s astounding!” whispered Mick. “Keep it up!” She went on playing, colour flaming in her pale cheeks, her green eyes brilliant with excitement. The gambling strain in her blood, of which she knew nothing, raced in her veins like fever.

  “Better stop now,” Mick said, his light eyes dancing with amusement. “Do you know you’ve won close on a hundred pounds?”

  “A hundred pounds!” She looked at him a little dazed. “But I only started with ten.”

  “You should make a habit of it,” he laughed. “I’ve never seen such luck.”

  “Come on!” David said. “We’d better go home before you lose it all. I can see you’re itching to play all night.”

  She went regretfully, and drove back to the flat feeling rather light-headed.

  “I must, I must” she had said to Mick, “do it again.”

  “If you’re a wise girl you’ll let me invest that hundred for you,” he had told her.

  “Amusing to meet the genuine article in anyone so young,” he said to Clare. “That child has the real gambling fever in her blood. It wouldn’t make any difference if she was losing.”

  “She should have,” said Clare, yawning. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Your ex-young man’s ward, isn’t she?” he said indifferently. “I wonder what he’d think about all this?”

  “She’s Handley Grey’s daughter,” said Clare dryly. “That should explain a lot.”

  He looked suddenly interested.

  “Handley Grey’s daughter, is she?” he remarked slowly. “Yes, I had heard there was a child somewhere. That’s very interesting—very interesting indeed. It would be instructive to see how much heredity really counts—most instructive.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sarah drove down to Sussex with James the next day, the Bentley piled high with the gay striped boxes which were the trade-mark of Peronel et Cie.

  “I feel like a commercial traveller.” James had laughed when he said good-bye to Peronel. “Sarah must have bought up the shop! Let me have the account fairly soon, won’t you?”

  “Oh, there’s no hurry,” said Peronel graciously. “You’ve been a good customer, Mr. Fane.”

  “Still, I’d rather settle quickly,” James said pleasantly. “I don’t like being in debt.”

  “Very well,” she said. Quick settlement had its points, but it had its disadvantages as well. The more people owed, the more they bought. “You’d better be prepared for a shock. Fitting out an entirely new wardrobe is an expensive business, you know.”

  “I suppose so. Well, anyway, Sarah won’t need anything new for a long time, judging by all this.”

  Peronel smiled discreetly and reflected that James had a lot to learn about women’s clothes, but Sarah would teach him. She was an extravagant little devil, thank goodness, and was at last taking a healthy interest in dress.

  “The summer’s gone!” Sarah said in surprise as they drove through the Sussex lanes. “You don’t notice these things in London.”

  “Well, tomorrow’s the first of October,” James reminded her. “We’re into autumn now.”

  It was there in the flaming beeches, the hedges already brown and bare, the nip of the wind. Sarah’s flying hair was the colour of the brilliant copper which greeted them on all sides. The creeper on the west wall of Fallow had turned a glowing crimson. In the hall, a log fire blazed and another flickered on the book-lined walls of the library.

  After tea, Sarah and Sophie disappeared upstairs in a froth of chatter to admire Sarah’s new clothes, and James sat over the library fire with his pipe reflecting on the subtle change in Sarah since they were last at Fallow. It was only just over a fortnight, but already James felt that she had learnt something. Another episode like the de Pinto affair wouldn’t find her so ill prepared.

  She came down about six o’clock, looking very pleased and expectant. “Do you like them?” she asked, and paraded round the room for his inspection in black and silver trousers and a silver top.

  “Very dashing,” said James, “but aren’t they a bit—a bit—”

  “Oh, I’ve got a green pair—less sophisticated. Peronel didn’t want me to have these, but I had to because of the dragons on them—they make me feel wicked.” She came and sat cross-legged on the hearthrug and hugged her knees blissfully. “It’s nice to be home again, isn’t it?” She looked at James under her lashes and hesitated.

  All day she had been bursting to tell him about the hundred pounds. Instinct warned her not to, but hers was a candid spirit, and it had become a habit to confide in James. Besides, a hundred pounds was a hundred pounds—no mean achievement in one night.

  James glanced at her and smiled. The firelight accentuated the angles and shadows of her face, giving her an elfin look.

  “Yes, you look rather wicked,” he said lazily. “What have you been up to?”

  “I’ve got a hundred pounds,” she said very quickly.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “That sounds a large sum to drop from the skies. How did you get it?”

  “I won it last night at roulette. Now, J.B., don’t fly off the handle. I know you told me not to go, but I did, and I won a hundred pounds, I’m a Woman of Property now.”

  James’s first instinct was to rate her roundly and he bit back the words with difficulty. That wasn’t the way to handle her. She had at least been honest in telling him.

  “I thought you went out with young Summers last night,” he said gravely.

  She looked up quickly.

  “Oh, I did. We met Mr. Fennick just as we were going home and he took us along with him. It was my own money, J.B. I played with the ten pounds I won the first night.”

  James was silent for a moment, wondering how best to tackle the situation.

  “Have you thought what would have happened if you’d lost a hundred pounds?” he asked quietly.

  “I’d have won it back somehow another night,” she answered carelessly. “J.B., I can’t help it. It’s the most exciting feeling I’ve ever known. Winning and winning and nothing breaking your luck.”

  “It always breaks sooner or later,” he said dryly. “Beginners’ luck is notorious, Sarah. Don’t be deceived into thinking you’re any different from anyone else.”

  “Mick says I could make a fortune.”

  “Mick?”

  “He told me to call him Mick. He’s nice.”

  “Now, Sarah,” he said firmly, “All other things apart, I won’t have you going about with this man. He’s well known for his affairs with women. He’s been divorced more than once, and altogether he isn’t, in my opinion, a suitable friend for you.” Sarah’s eyes watched him with interest and her mouth suddenly lifted at the corners.

  “He sounds exciting,” she said, and James could have kicked himself. He had only succeeded in making Mick Fennick sound intriguing and dangerous.

  “You’re not to go out with him alone,” he said sharply. “And that’s an order.”

  “An order!” He green eyes narrowed ominously. “No one gives orders to me.”

  “I can,” James retorted. “And I can see they are carried out.”

  She jumped up and began wandering restlessly round the room. Presently she lit a cigarette and smoked it, propped in what she hoped was a nonchalant attitude against the desk.

  “You can’t treat me like a child now, J.B.,” she said. “I’m entitled to my own life and my own friends.”

  “You haven’t been too clever in choosing your friends to date,” he reminded her.

  She flushed, thinking of Pinto.

  “I was inexperienced,” she said grandly. “I handled Pinto badly.”

  He grinned suddenly, the annoyance going out of him.

  “Are you so much wiser now?” he mocked gently.

  “You can’t treat me like a child,” she said again.

  “I can and will if you behave like one,” he retorted. “I spanked you once
, Sarah, and I’ll do it again if necessary.”

  “Oh!” Her worldly pose broke up and she flung her cigarette angrily into the grate. “If you dared, I’d—I’d run away. I wouldn’t go on living with you.”

  He laughed.

  “Well, it’s up to you. If you want to be taken for an adult person, you know, you must behave in an adult fashion. Come here, you silly child.”

  He held out his hand, and after a moment she went and sat on the arm of his chair.

  “J.B.,” she said, “as a matter of interest, why are you so opposed to gambling?”

  He hesitated.

  “I suppose because I’ve seen what havoc it can make of people’s lives. Your true gambler doesn’t stop at the tables. He gambles with fortunes, and when his own is lost he gambles with other people’s.”

  “Like that Handley Thingummy?”

  “Yes, like Handley Grey. He died in prison, his wife committed suicide and thousands of homes were ruined, including mine.”

  She was silent, staring into the fire. There had been unwonted bitterness in James’s voice.

  “Poor J.B.,” she said gently. “You were awfully unlucky. Long John used to say that Handley Grey was unlucky too. If the market hadn’t crashed when it did, he’d have pulled out again.”

  ‘That’s the financier’s point of view,” James said. “But no one should speculate with other people’s money. It’s dishonest and crooked and gambling’s at the root of it. Now do you understand, Sarah?”

  “Not entirely,” she replied. “This man, Handley Grey, was just a crook. He’d probably have ended in gaol whatever he did. But gambling for fun, with your own money, is surely rather different.”

  “Not in essence,” said James. “Sooner or later there comes a time when you get into debt and someone has to get you out of the mess. I rather wish you had lost that hundred, Sarah. It might have taught you a lesson.”

  He might have said more, but Sophie joined them and the conversation became general.

  James felt that Sarah would enjoy having her friends at Fallow, so he had her invite Peronel and David Summers down for the weekend. Their neighbours, the Moons, were invited over for Saturday night.