by Sara Seale
“Yes, you might have known,” echoed Sarah.
“And this distant marriage—was that a fairy-tale, too?”
Sarah looked with distaste at that elegant gloved hand on her knee.
“Didn’t J.B. tell you?” she asked, knowing that of course James must have denied the story.
Clare sighed.
“Jim is a chivalrous person,” she replied. “He has a very strong sense of duty. He means to do that duty by you, I think, my dear.”
Sarah looked puzzled. So James hadn’t denied it. She wondered why.
Clare turned her head and looked at Sarah with grave blue eyes.
“Forgive me if I sound impertinent, Sarah,” she said gently. “But don’t take everything Jim has to offer unless you’re very sure you can make him happy. He’s prepared to give up so much to spend his life taking care of you.”
Sarah was completely out of her depth. It was evident that Clare was still under the impression that her story was true, but James must have known it for what it was, a childish invention to drive Clare away. All at once, the full meaning of Clare’s words struck her. “You mean,” she blurted out, “that you and J.B.—if it wasn’t for me—”
“My dear,” said Clare quietly, “it’s for you to decide. I’ve come up against Jim’s sense of duty before; I can only stand aside and wish him happiness. Poor me, poor Jim! We both of us understood what we wanted too late. Here we are.”
While Clare paid off the taxi, Sarah stood on the pavement waiting in a ferment of indecision. She had only to say: “It was all a gag. J.B. knew. He was only backing me up for some reason of his own. He’s found a house for you—a lovely house, and you can live happily ever after.” But she wouldn’t Let Clare stew a little longer. She’d get him in the end, and she deserved a little uncertainty after the way she had treated him.
She followed Clare into the restaurant, and upstairs to the bar. David was already waiting, and his face lit up when he saw Sarah.
“Hul-lo!” he exclaimed. “This is a surprise! Where did you find her, Clare?”
“At Peronel’s, probably being extravagant like me,” Clare replied gaily. She had lost her air of reproach and resignation, and looked around her with satisfaction.
“Nice,” she said appreciatively. “Now, I’m going to be naughty, David, and have one teeny drink and then fly. But you won’t mind, will you? Sarah will keep you company.”
“Your haste is unflattering,” he grinned. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Silly boy!” For a moment Clare looked almost coy. “You know quite well you’re dying to have Sarah to yourself. Much more your age, my dear. Jim and I are old fogeys.”
“Oh, you’re meeting Sarah’s watch-dog, are you? Then Sarah must, certainly lunch with me,” said David.
“Oh, no, Jim isn’t in London today,” said Clare serenely. “Little Sarah is on the loose. She tells me she has a luncheon appointment, but perhaps you can persuade her to change her mind.”
“I’m sorry, I’m booked,” said Sarah.
“So important?” Clare chided.
Sarah drank her Cinzano in one gulp, and put the glass down with a bang.
“You know perfectly well I’m lunching with Mick, and yes, it happens to be important,” she said.
Clare finished her drink and began pulling on her gloves. She leaned a little towards Sarah and said in lowered tones which were nevertheless quite audible to David:
“Do you think you’re playing quite fair with Jim, my dear? I don’t feel he would very much like his ward, to say nothing of his future wife, being seen about with a man of Mick Fennick’s reputation.”
“Please,” said Sarah, at last goaded into open rudeness, “mind your own business.”
Clare looked at her reproachfully.
“That’s not nice, Sarah,” she said gently. “And I’m afraid Jim’s happiness will always be my business. Good-bye, my dear—au revoir, David, you must come and drink with me another time.”
“I thought I was supposed to be drinking with her today. It was her invitation,” said the interested David. “What’s all this future wife business, my poppet? Is it true, or was Clare waffling rather more than usual?”
“She makes me sick!” said Sarah with disgust. “Order me something very strong, David.”
“Okay. You look as if you could do with it. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Of course it isn’t true, and if she’d any sense at all she’d know it. I invented a story that I was going to marry J.B. just to scare her off, and she swallowed it hook, line and sinker.”
“And has it scared her off?”
“No, it’s got her crying for the moon and drivelling about sense of duty, and poor dear Jim’s sacrificed happiness.”
“You know,” said David slowly, pushing Sarah’s drink towards her, “there may be some truth in what she says. What would you think of the idea of hooking up with your respected guardian?”
Sarah’s eyes smarted with tears.
“Don’t you start, David,” she said angrily. “I told you the whole thing was a gag. J.B. never took it seriously.”
“And yet,” said David conversationally, “I think he’s in love with you.”
Sarah looked up, and her wide mouth curved in an uncertain smile.
“You must be loopy!” she said unsteadily.
“No.” David fidgeted with his glass, then suddenly tossed his drink down whole. “I’ve thought so for a little while. Let’s have another.”
“Love and a sense of duty get awfully mixed up at times,” remarked Sarah. “It’s uncomfortable to be someone’s responsibility, David. Would you like to marry me? You’ve often asked me.”
“No,” said David unexpectedly. “I’m too young and giddy to play the Patient Lover waiting for his Reward. It might never come. Three months ago, my sweet, I would have jumped at the offer, but not now.”
“Why not now?”
“Oh, I dunno. You’ve changed, maybe. Anyway, it wouldn’t do. I’ll have much more fun being the bright young spark who takes you dancing when your husband wants to put his feet on the mantelpiece.”
“I don’t seem very good at getting a husband,” Sarah said, feeling happier as she started on her third Cinzano. “Also, I must try and break myself of the habit of asking people to marry me. That’s about the third time.”
“Have you asked James?”
“Sort of. He took a poor view of the idea, I rather gathered. Can I have another, David? I’m beginning to feel very cosy.”
“Not if you’re meeting Mick. He’s sure to give you several,” David told her. “And you don’t want to have too many drinks when you’re doing business with Mick.”
“How did you know it was business?” she asked suspiciously. He smiled.
“I rather imagined you’d outgrown his attraction by now.” was all he said. “Come on, I’ll drop you at the trysting-place.”
Sarah greeted Mick gaily. The drinks had done their work well, and she felt confident and at ease again. He looked at her with a speculative eye, saw that she had already had something to drink, and ordered her another.
“I’m sorry about that little investment,” he said easily, lighting a cigarette for her. “It was too bad it had to fall down on us. You might have reinvested the proceeds and made a profit.”
“Or alternatively lost the lot,” said Sarah, surveying her drink with pleasure.
“Once upon a time you used not to think along those lines,” he reminded her. “I wonder what’s happened to change you.”
“Probably I’m no gambler,” she said carelessly. “I was led away because I had such marvellous luck to start with. It’s a mug’s game really.”
“Very curious, that, coming from you,” Mick remarked. “Why me, specially?”
“It doesn’t matter for the moment. Have you solved the little problem of your debt to me? You must be missing those pearls.”
“J.B. has missed them!” Sarah retorte
d. “I shall have to think up another story for him soon.”
“It doesn’t seem to be worrying you.”
“Oh, something will turn up; it always does,” she said, and drank off her scotch, wondering why, when only this morning she had been worried to death, now nothing seemed to matter very much.
He grinned and eyed her approvingly.
“That’s much better,” he said, and beckoned to a waiter, “There are always quite simple ways out of everything if people will only take them. Another drink?”
She regarded her empty glass doubtfully.
“Do you think I’d better? It’d be my fifth. But I am feeling good.”
“Two more of the same,” Mick said to the waiter, “You know, Sarah, there’s something damned attractive about your naiveness. You’re a very confiding little person with the knack of making men want to be good to you. I suppose you think I’m a bit of a cad to hold you to that IOU. I ought to tear it up, return your pearls and say: Bless you, my child, you owe me nothing.”
“No,” said Sarah thoughtfully. “Long John always said you never got anything for nothing in this world, and you don’t. Besides, a debt’s a debt.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he said. “It makes everything so much easier, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” asked Sarah, feeling suddenly chilled. “How much do I owe you now, Mick?”
“We’ll discuss it all over lunch,” he said smoothly. Finish up your drink and we’ll go in.”
The restaurant was full of the usual fashionably dressed crowd. Mick had reserved a table in a corner, and the chatter, the warmth, the smell of food, rose like a drug about Sarah, making her feel relaxed and contented. Her strained relations with James, Clare’s hints, even her debt to Mick, all faded into the well-being of the moment. A waiter poured hock into tall, slim glasses, and Mick raised his and smiled at her.
“Here’s to our problem!” he said gaily. “May it solve itself to our mutual satisfaction.”
He didn’t mention the business between them until they were embarked on the sweet course, then he said quite suddenly. “You owe me three hundred pounds, Sarah.”
Sarah, eating marron mousse with enjoyment, put down her spoon and looked at him blankly.
“Three hundred pounds?” she said. “But I can’t.”
“One hundred on the old debt—it was a little more actually, but we’ll call it a hundred. And I invested another two hundred for you—unfortunately as it turned out.”
She stared at him with growing dismay.
“But when you said a small investment, I thought you meant about fifty pounds,” she said, “I never dreamed—I couldn’t possibly afford to risk two hundred.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought I was doing you a good turn.” The thing seemed gilt-edged—and the profit on two hundred seemed worth the risk. As a matter of fact, I lost a packet myself.”
“But I can’t find three hundred pounds,” said Sarah. The heat and the wine had made her feel stupid. “It’s more than my year’s allowance. How on earth do you expect me to save out of that?”
“You could always sell the pearls, I suppose,” he said with a shrug, but she shook her head vehemently.
“No—no, I couldn’t possibly do that,” she said, “I could never explain it to J.B. Besides, I want them back.”
He ordered coffee, and lit a cigarette.
“Well, my dear, what do you propose to do?” he said.
“I don’t know,” said Sarah bleakly. “I don’t know at all.”
He leaned across the table and placed a hand over hers. “Listen, Sarah,” he said softly. “Let’s come down to brass tacks. I told you the last time we discussed this thing that I wanted you. I want you badly, my dear, and I’m prepared to do quite a lot to get you. I’ll even get this divorce business cleared up so that I can marry you, and that’s more than I’d do for anyone else. You’ve done something to me, Sarah—at first, all I wanted was the usual affair, but now—”
She regarded him with conflicting emotions. She remembered that she had once found Mick exciting and exhilarating. She had been enormously flattered by his attention. It had been fun then, playing Mick against David, David against Mick, James had been a background, a good friend who had appreciated her small successes, and got her out of messes when the occasion arose. But James was much more than that. James was the backbone of her existence. Without him, life would become horribly complicated. It was complicated now, and James was going to marry Clare.
She looked at Mick, warming his brandy in a big balloon glass, and said a little forlornly:
“But it mightn’t work out at all, being married to you. I want something more secure, more—permanent.”
He lifted an eyebrow and surveyed her quizzically.
“My poor sweet,” he said, “is it possible you’ve rather fallen for your worthy guardian?”
“What’s funny about it if I have?” she demanded truculently.
“There’s always Clare,” he said softly. “I told you before, Sarah, you’re no match for Clare if she means business, and I rather think she does. Haven’t I heard something to the effect that he’s been settling her bills?”
“Why shouldn’t he?” said Sarah, feeling sick. “They’re old friends.”
“My darling child!” he expostulated. “Be your age! I don’t suppose Fane’s little proposition is any different from mine.”
“No,” said Sarah “J.B. is quite different from you—quite different.”
‘Thanks for the compliment,” he said dryly. “Why do you hanker after dull respectability, Sarah? It’s perfectly understandable why your good guardian has preconceived ideas, but why should you? You’re disappointing me, you know. You’re cut out for an exciting life—for taking chances, and cutting losses. You told me just now that you were no gambler, but I find that very hard to believe, knowing what I do.”
“And what do you know?” asked Sarah.
He put down his brandy glass and rested his elbows on the table.
“I’ve always been a firm believer in heredity,” he said. “When I first met you, I was interested because your reaction to gambling-rather proved my point. I would be disappointed to find your father’s daughter sitting down tamely under a piece of bad luck.”
“Who was my father?” said Sarah. “Does it matter so very much?”
“I should think it matters to Fane,” Mick replied, and seemed to be enjoying the joke. “He’s no cause to bless the name of Grey.”
“Grey?”
”Never heard of Handley Grey? A great man in his way, Sarah, but he slipped up, unfortunately. Handley Grey was your father.”
Sarah sat motionless, watching the deep amber liquid still moving in Mick’s glass. It seemed silly, she thought vaguely, to pour such a little drink into such a big glass.
“Handley Grey was my father?” she repeated dully. “The Handley Grey who died in prison?”
Mick nodded. “But he was a great gambler.”
“A great gambler,” echoed Sarah, and with painful clarity understood James’s warning.
“It was my father who ruined J.B., wasn’t it?” Clare’s delicate hints fell into place in all their cruel suggestiveness. “It must have been rather—galling—to find himself responsible for the daughter of Handley Grey.”
For the first time, Mick appeared a little uneasy.
“There’s no need to make a drama about it, my sweet,” he said quickly. “It was just one of those things. I only told you so that you’d understand better about yourself. You and I are much of a kind, Sarah. We could have great times together.”
“And my mother?” asked Sarah. “What happened to my mother? Is she still alive?”
“Didn’t you know that story?” said Mick curiously. “It was always supposed that John Silver adopted you because he was in love with your mother. He wasn’t a philanthropic man, so I think it must have been true.”
“A few days after your father, I believe.”
“She didn’t—she didn’t—” faltered Sarah, remembering something that James had once said, but he replied with a measured gentleness that scarcely cloaked the brutality of his words:
“She couldn’t face it. She committed suicide.”
For a long time she sat, staring at him unseeingly, while the buzz of talk rose around them, unnoticed. Mick began to be a little alarmed by Sarah’s pallor. He moved uneasily. She was taking this thing quietly enough, but you never could tell with young girls.
“Forget it,” he said. “I only told you to put you straight with yourself. You seemed to be getting ideas about Fane.”
Sarah looked at him with an effort.
“You think it made a difference to him, who I am?” she said.
He made a small gesture.
“Well, it can’t have been particularly pleasant for him finding himself responsible for the child of the man who ruined him,” he said.
“No,” said Sarah slowly. “It can’t have been pleasant. I think I must go, now, Mick.”
“Very well.” Mick always knew when to let things ride. “Look, Sarah, if you should think any more about my proposition, let me know. If you come away with me, we’ll go abroad until the whole thing’s blown over. When I’m free to marry you we’ll come back and everyone will have forgotten. Let me know in a few days, will you—unless, of course, you decide to ask Fane to settle your debts again.”
“Yes,” said Sarah, still in that quiet voice, “I’ll let you know.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sarah caught an early afternoon train back to Sussex, and arrived at Heronsgill as the sun was sinking behind the Downs. She took her car out of the station garage, and for some reason was reluctant to drive straight home.
She found herself on the road leading to Little Barrow, and she stopped at the wrought-iron gates which led to the house. It was one of those soft February evenings when the first hint of spring is in the air, and Sarah walked down the short drive, aware of the stillness which had settled over the Downs. Small patches of snow still lay in spots untouched by the sun, but through them, shoots were already pushing, and in a sheltered corner she found early primroses.
