by Anne Weale
"Her eyes were brown. Mine are hazel," Joanna said softly.
"Yes, you have Michael's eyes, but otherwise you are very like her. Even your voice is the same," her grandmother said, with a smile. "It's like having her back with me — as if we had never parted." Her voice trembled and she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "There now, I'm crying again. How silly of me," she said in a firmer tone. "You must be tired, dear. It's a long journey from Paris. I'll ring for Alice and you must have a rest and a bath before dinner. We have plenty of time to talk."
But before she could touch the bell pull beside the headboard there was a knock at the door and Charles looked in.
"Ah, Charles dear — just the person I wanted," Mrs. Carlyon said fondly. "Joanna must change and settle herself before we dine. She's having the north room. Show her the way, will you ? And then you might ask Monica to come up. She insisted I should stay in bed today, but I am going to come down for dinner. I'm really perfectly well, and it makes so much extra work for Alice to have to bring trays up."
"Oh, please don't get up on my account," Joanna said anxoiusly. "Perhaps I could have a tray with you."
"No, no, I want to get up," her grandmother said firmly.
"Monica likes to fuss me, but it's quite unnecessary. I'm as fit as a fiddle."
Charles grinned at her. "What's all this I hear about your sneaking off for the afternoon while Monica was lunching with the Bradleys?" he asked teasingly.
"It was a lovely afternoon and I fancied a drive in the country, so I hired a car and had one," Mrs. Carlyon said with satisfaction. "I can't think why Monica had to make such a to-do about it. I might just as well die enjoying myself as shut up in here."
"I should be surprised if you didn't outlive the lot of us," Charles said drily. "I wish I could jaunt round the country on a fine day instead of being stuck at a desk."
Mrs. Carlyon chuckled. "You're not so hard done by, my lad," she said, with a shrewd glance. "I've no doubt you found more than the scenery to admire in Monaco. You must tell me about it some time. As much as is fit for me to hear, that is to say. Now run along, both of you. I'm going to get up."
In the corridor, Charles said, "How did it go?"
"Very well," Joanna answered, with a smile. "She's a delightful person. I can see why you're so fond of her."
He did not reply, and a moment later they reached the room which had been prepared for her. Like Mrs. Carlyon's, it was an old-fashioned apartment with a marble-topped washstand and high double bed.
"The bathroom is next door. Dinner's at seven. You'll hear the gong," Charles said.
"Are you going to your own house now?" she asked.
"No, I'm just going to take my luggage back and collect the mail and then I shall come back here for the evening," he said. "Or would you rather I left you to cope alone?"
"Oh, no! I'd be glad for you to stay," she said quickly. Then, on impulse: "Why does my aunt dislike me, Charles? She was very polite, but I could tell she wasn't pleased to see me."
He jingled the coins in his pocket, glancing about the room. "You must have imagined it. Why should she dislike you?" he said casually. "As she said, it's difficult to realize you're a member of the family. There's bound to be a certain amount of reserve to overcome. They've put out towels and so forth, haven't they? Ah, yes. Well, I'll be off. See you later."
"Yes. Thank you," Joanna said quietly.
But when he had closed the door, his receding footsteps muffled by the thick carpets, she remained in the centre of the room, absently twisting her bracelet, a puzzled frown contracting her brows.
Presently, shrugging aside the enigma of her aunt's hostility, she began to unpack, hanging her suits and dresses in the large camphor-smelling wardrobe, and arranging her smaller possessions neatly in the dressing-table drawers.
The bathroom proved to be as old-fashioned as the rest of the house, with green bead curtains screening the lower half of the window, a vast airing cupboard, and a lavatory enclosed in a throne of highly polished oak. However, the plumbing was evidently modern, as the hot tap gave forth a strong jet of almost boiling water.
Back in her room, Joanna selected a semi-formal dress of mint green wild silk with tiny sleeves and a slightly belled skirt. A skein of faceted crystals filled the modest decolle- tage, and she pinned up her hair to show the matching ear-clips.
She was ready by half-past six, and after looking out at the garden for some minutes she decided to go downstairs. The taps were running in the bathroom as she passed the door and she wondered which member of the household was the occupant. One of her cousins perhaps. She wondered if they would follow their mother's lead and receive her with the same cold courtesy.
The hall was deserted as she walked down the stairs, but as she reached the bottom the front door was flung open and a tall fair-haired young man rushed in and tossed a briefcase on to an oak rug chest. Turning towards the stairs, he saw her and stopped short, a look of rather comical astonishment on his face.
"Good lord! Are you cousin Joanna?" he asked, after a moment.
Joanna smiled, wondering what he had expected her to be like, since it was plain that the reality amazed him.
"That's right," she said pleasantly. "And you're Neal,
I presume?"
He nodded, his glance travelling slowly from the crown of her head to the toes of her pearl grey shoes. "Well, you are a surprise!" he said emphatically. "Here were we, waiting to be kind to little Orphan Annie, and what do we find? A gorgeous redhead straight out of a fashion magazine!"
It was said too frankly to be in any way offensive, and Joanna laughed and held out her hand. "Thank you," she said demurely. "But I think Merefield must be rather behind the times if this dress looks at all striking. It wouldn't rate a second glance in Paris, I'm afraid."
His handshake was warm and firm and, now that he had recovered from his amazement, his expression was as friendly as his mother's had been guarded.
"You'd rate a second glance anywhere," he said appreciatively. "Are they all busy changing? Come and have a drink and let me get used to you." And taking her arm, he steered her round a corner and into a handsome drawing- room which overlooked a rose garden.
"What'll you have? A sherry — or something stronger?" he asked, going over to a cabinet near the fireplace.
"A sherry would be lovely," Joanna said, studying him with interest.
He was tall — although not as tall as Charles — and slimly built, with a thin rather Puckish face and hazel eyes. As he poured their drinks, she noticed that he had beautiful hands with long supple fingers and very clean nails.
"What time did you get here? Have you met all the others?" he asked, filling two glasses and bringing them across to her.
"Not your sisters. I think they were out when we arrived," she said, sitting down on a large brocaded sofa.
Neal pulled up a small table and sat down beside her. "Cigarette?" he asked, offering her his case.
"No, thank you. I don't smoke."
He grinned. "Pity. You're the type to brandish one of those foot-long diamond-studded holders. I'm afraid poor old Vanessa is going to feel the draught a bit from now on."
"Your sister? What do you mean?" Joanna asked, puzzled.
Neal laughed. "Up to today Vanessa's been the belle of the ball around here," he explained. "Not that there's a great deal of competition in this neck of the woods. But I have a feeling that the lads of the village are going to find her a trifle insipid now you're around."
Joanna sipped the sherry. "I dare say you mean that as a compliment, but it's not a very nice thing to say about your sister," she said with a level glance.
He shrugged. "I'm not a very nice person, dear cousin. In fact — as our worthy Charles has probably warned you — I'm the second blackest sheep in the family."
"The second? Who is the first?" she asked.
He slanted a speculative glance at her. "Your father, of course," he said drily.
Joanna
wondered how he expected her to react. "What was your particular crime?" she enquired mildly.
"Oh, nothing specific. I just don't match up to the great Carlyon tradition. Life is real, life is earnest — all that kind of thing," he said negligently.
Before Joanna could reply, there were footsteps outside the door and two girls came in.
Neal stood up. "My sisters, Cousin Joanna," he said. "Come and make polite conversation, you two. I'd better go and clean up before the Elders come down." And with a smile at Joanna, and a quizzical glance at his sisters, he downed his drink nd left the room.
For some seconds after his departure, there was a slightly awkward pause, and then the younger of the girls moved forward and said with engaging frankness, "I must say you're not a bit what we expected — is she, Van?"
Joanna laughed. "What did you expect?" she asked.
Cathy Carlyon sat down in a chair opposite her. "I don't know really. Someone rather shabby and trodden-on, I suppose," she said reflectively.
"Oh, Cathy, what rubbish you always talk," her sister said, looking embarrassed. "Did you have a good journey, Miss Allen?"
"Yes, thank you. Very good," Joanna responded politely.
Vanessa went to the cabinet and poured herself a glass of sherry. She was plainly ill at ease, and Joanna wondered if she was always on edge with strangers or if, like her mother, she was hostile and wary.
Although both sisters had fair hair and fresh complexions, they were not particularly alike. Vanessa was tall and statuesque with a straight nose and firmly rounded chin. Cathy was small and coltish with a scatter of freckles on her forehead and short snub nose. Vanessa wore her hair in a glossy long bob, but the younger girl's hair was cropped close to her head and not very tidy.
"Where's Charles? Has he gone home?" Cathy enquired.
"Only to leave his luggage. He's coming bads," Joanna told her.
"Oh, good. I wonder if he's brought us any presents?" Cathy said hopefully. "How do you get on with him? Has he been nice to you?"
"Yes, very nice. Is there any reason why he shouldn't have been?" Joanna asked.
"Oh, no — but he can be awfully sarcastic sometimes," Cathy said candidly. "I've known people to be scared to death of him. He has a funny way of looking at you — as if he knew what you were thinking."
"It's not very polite to discuss people behind their backs, Cathy," Vanessa said abruptly. "Will you have another drink, Miss Allen?"
Joanna shook her head. "No, thank you. I haven't finished this one yet."
"Can we call you Joanna?" Cathy asked. "It seems so silly to call you 'Miss Allen' when you're a relation." Joanna smiled at her. "Yes, do," she said warmly.
"What a lovely dress," Cathy said, eyeing it admiringly. "The clothes shops in Merefield are deadly. Full of serviceable tweeds and deadly dull twin sets. Absolute death after Paris, I should think."
"Well, I expect tweeds and sweaters are the best choice in the provinces," Joanna said. "The Frenchwoman's elegance is really rather a myth, you know. It's only in Paris or Cannes that people dress to kill. As a matter of fad, I made this myself."
"Did you honestly? Gosh, how clever. I thought it was a model," Cathy said, impressed. "I wish I could sew properly. I made this skirt, but there's something wrong with the hem." She jumped up to demonstrate that the hang of her full blue skirt was faulty.
"The cut is all right. You need a flouncy petticoat to fill it out," Joanna suggested. "Have you got one? If not, you can borrow one of mine. That thick soft fabric needs plenty of support or it tends to flop."
"Can I really? That's awfully decent of you," Cathy said, looking surprised. "Vanessa hates lending things, don't you, Van?"
"If you tried to plan your clothes instead of buying the first thing that catches your eye, you wouldn't need to borrow," her sister said repressively. "Don't let her start cadging, Miss Allen… Joanna. She's fearfully clumsy — always spilling things down herself or tearing huge rents."
"I'm not," Cathy protested indignantly. "It wasn't my fault that Bill Harris shot his coffee all over that red blouse of yours. Anyway, I had it cleaned, so you needn't keep on about it so."
"Yes, but you didn't ask if you could wear it, did you?" Vanessa said coldly.
Cathy flushed and shot an anxious glance at Joanna, obviously resenting this revelation of her imperfections before a stranger. Fortunately, before she could snap back a retort, the door opened again and Charles strolled in.
Immediately, both girls forgot their grievances. Cathy dashed forward with an exclamation of delight, and Vanessa's censorious expression gave place to a smile of pleasure.
"Charles! How heavenly to have you back," Cathy cried eagerly, flinging her arms round his neck and planting an uninhibited kiss on his lean brown cheek. "What have you brought us?" she demanded. "Some naughty French scanties, or a whacking great bottle of scent?"
Charles extricated himself from her bear-like embrace and ruffled her hair. "What makes you think I've brought you anything?" he asked, with an indulgent grin. "Hello, Vanessa."
He took the older girl's hands in his and smiled down at her. Watching them, Joanna saw a delicate flush suffuse her cousin's cheeks.
"Oh, don't be such a sadist, Charles. I know you've got something up your sleeve," Cathy broke in impatiently.
"Not up my sleeve, little one. On the hall table," Charles said, dropping into a chair. "I dare say you don't deserve it, but I suppose you'd better have it since I've squandered some of my francs on you."
Cathy rushed out of the room, and, lighting a cigarette, Charles looked across at Joanna.
"There's only Neal to meet now," he said. "I expect he'll be late. He usually is."
"She's already met him," Vanessa said quickly. "Did you have a good time, Charles? You're wonderfully suntanned."
Before he could reply Cathy burst back again, clutching two parcels. One she tossed to her sister, the other she began hurriedly to unfasten.
"Ooh — trousers! Just what I want." she exclaimed rapturously, holding up a pair of vivid harlequin beach pants with a matching tunic. "Hope they fit. Vv^hat gorgeous colors. This'll knock their eyes out at the Country Club. Thanks a million, Charles."
Charles submitted to another boisterous hug and allowed her to settle on the side of his chair, an arm round his shoulders. His gift to Vanessa proved to be a blouse of handtucked white chiffon with a demure Peter Pan collar. It was the kind of thing which rich American tourists bought at exclusive little boutiques, and Joanna could guess how much it had cost. She wondered if he was always generous, or if he had a special affection for the elder sister. Certainly his taste was impeccable. The blouse was a perfect choice for Vanessa's fresh white-and-gold beauty.
"Thank you, Charles. It's lovely," the girl said quietly. "I'll wear it tonight. I shan't be a moment."
As she left the room, her mother and grandmother entered, the old lady leaning on her daughter's arm.
"Ah, there you are, my dears," she said fondly. "What have you got there, Cathy? It looks very gay."
"Charles has bought me a beach suit, Gran. Do you like it?"
"It's certainly very striking," Mrs. Carlyon said, with a twinkle. "There'll be no danger of losing sight of you. Ah, there's the gong. Let's go in, shall we ? Our two travellers must be hungry."
Neal was waiting for them at the dining room door and, while Charles drew out chairs for the two older women, he saw Joanna seated and took the place next to her. A few minutes later, while the maid was serving the soup, Vanessa reappeared in the new blouse.
"What a charming blouse, dear. Most becoming," Mrs. Carlyon said approvingly. "And what have you brought for Monica and me, Charles? Or are we past the age for these exciting presents?"
"I'll give you yours after dinner, Grandmother. You know what Cathy is. She couldn't wait," he said, smiling. "How have things been going at the factory, Neal? smoothly, I hope."
"I think so. They generally do," Neal said carelessly. He turned to Joanna
. "How did Charles come across you?" he asked.
Joanna hesitated and, before she could answer, Charles said, "In a night club. I thought I recognized her, and that bracelet confirmed it."
"A night club, eh?" Neal said, looking interested. "Did you lead a very gay life in Paris, Joanna?"
"No, not really," she said cautiously. "Do you know Paris?"
"I spent a week there once. I wouldn't say I know it," he replied. "Which night club? Not the Folies Bergere, I hope." He shot an amused glance at Charles.
"I wish there was a night club in Merefield," Cathy remarked, with a sigh. "It's deadly here, Joanna. Everyone goes to bed about ten."
"You're too young for night clubs anyway," Vanessa observed. "I should think they're rather nasty places."
"You would," her brother said derisively. "We can't all be fresh air fanatics."
"Do you ride, my dear?" Mrs. Carlyon asked Joanna. "Vanessa is a very keen horsewoman."
"No, I'm afraid I don't. I've never had time for any sports."
"Thank God for that," Neal said succinctly. "Athletic women are an abomination."
"No more abominable than third-rate artists who think they're geniuses," Vanessa said cuttingly.
Mrs. Carlyon forestalled any rejoiner. "Really, my dears, one would think you were still in the nursery," she said, in gentle reproach. "Poor Joanna will imagine we all hate each other if you squabble over trifles. Now, Charles dear, tell us about your holiday before you found Joanna. Was the weather good?"
When the meal was over, they adjourned to the drawing- room and Charles took the opportunity to draw Joanna aside for a moment and say quietly, "I think you'll have to tell the old lady the truth. How much the others are told must depend on her. She will probably go to bed soon and want you to talk to her, so you may as well tell her at once and then it will be done with."
