by Anne Weale
They had come to the end of the trees and, slowing down, Neal turned the car off the road and on to a stretch of rough turf. The beam of the headlamps showed a group of wind-swept pines and, beneath them, a bench. Then he switched off the engine and swung himself out.
The moon was behind a cloud and it was a second or two before Joanna's eyes adjusted to the starlight. Then she saw that they were at the summit of a long bluff, and behind them was a stretch of heathland. Neal held out his hand to her. "You'd better grab a hold. There are quite a few potholes," he said.
His hand was warm and firm and, holding it, she let him lead her across the uneven ground until, as they neared the edge of the cliff, she saw the town. It was spread out beneath them, quite near and yet somehow remote, like a city seen from the air.
"That long curve of blue lights is the by-pass and the red neon sign is the brewery," Neal explained. "Even the railway yards look quite attractive after dark. A pity it isn't dark all the time."
The hardness in his voice chilled her and she shivered.
"Are you cold?" he asked quickly.
"No. It's quite mild," she said. "Where would you live if you could choose, Neal ?"
"London," he said at once. "There's something in the air that makes me feel alive. Merefield stifles me. How about you? Where would you live?"
She was silent for a moment, her thoughts winging back to all the places she had been to with her father. Rio… Athens… Rangoon… so many cities, so many memories.
"I don't know," she said softly "I've never been anywhere that felt like home to me."
The moon emerged from the clouds and he turned to look at her, his fingers tightening. The next moment she was in his arms and he was bending his head to kiss her.
Joanna did not struggle, but she turned her head so that his lips only brushed her cheek.
"What's the matter?" he said. "Don't you like me?"
"I don't know you yet, Neal," she said quietly.
His hold slackened, but he did not release her.
"Don't you like being kissed?" He sounded so puzzled that she almost laughed .
"Not by comparative strangers," I'm afraid, she said mildly. "Is that why you asked me to come out?"
His arms dropped and he let her go. "I'm sorry. I'll take you home." His tone was stiff and offended.
They walked back to the car in silence, and then Joanna touched his sleeve and said, "Don't be so cross about it. I'm not."
He helped her into the car and then walked round the bonnet and slid behind the wheel. But he did not immediately switch on the engine.
"You're a strange girl," he said abruptly, fiddling with the key.
"Why? Because I can resist your fatal fascination?" she said teasingly.
"Or did you assume that, coming from 'gay Paree' and being a night-club entertainer, I would be used to that sort of thing?"
"No, not really. You don't look like a good-time girl," he said, rather gruffly. "I just—oh, hell! Now I suppose you'll write me off as a prize heel."
"I don't see why I should, she said mildly. "What little I do know about you, I rather like."
He looked at her. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Anyway you seem to like me, and that's comforting. I'm not too sure of the others yet," she said wryly.
He seemed about to reply and then changed his mind and started the car.
"Look, how about having a drink somewhere?" he suggested presently.
"All right. But should you, when you're driving?" Joanna asked cautiously.
"One glass of beer won't hurt, and there's quite a decent pub not far from the house," he said, in a more cheerful tone. "Don't worry. I'm no saint, but I haven't started hitting the bottle yet."
The 'pub' proved to be a delightful old coaching inn which had so far been spared the horrors of modernization. The oak-panelled lounge was empty, but a babel of voices and the sounds of a darts match drifted through the hatch connecting it with the smoke-room. While Joanna sat down on a high-backed settle near the open hearth, Neal ordered a Carlsberg for himself and a Pimm's for her.
"I like this. It's how one imagines England," she said, as he joined her, her glance straying from the sporting prints on the walls to the burnished copper pans above the bar.
"Mm, it's not bad, I suppose. I'd change it for one of your Paris bistros, though," he said, with a smile. "Tell me about your work. Presumably this night club is a pretty select one. I can't imagine you prancing around behind a fan."
Joanna looked momentarily puzzled. Then she laughed and said, "Oh, I don't have to do anything Ike that, thank goodness. All the same, I think some of the people here might not approve of me. My father used to say that the English were the world's greatest hypocrites. When they're abroad they are delighted by anything the least bit shocking, but at home they're very prim. Is that true, do you think?"
Neal grinned. "Probably. I've no doubt old Charles lets down his hair a bit when he's out of the country."
"Charles? Oh, he doesn't strike me as being prim," Joanna said thoughtfully. "He seems a little severe at times, and accustomed to getting what he wants, but I wouldn't have thought him narrow-minded."
"No, close-fistedness is his trouble," Neal said, rather grimly. "He's generous enough with his own money, but he makes darned sure we don't squander any of ours."
"Yours? But what has he to do with your money?" she asked.
"Pretty well everything," Neal replied, with a wry glance. "You see, Grandfather divided his estate among us. Grandmother has the house and the major portion, and my mother has enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Charles didn't get anything—he doesn't need it. But we three all had equal legacies which we can only use with the trustees' approval. One of the trustees is Mother, but, unfortunately, the other is Charles."
"But the trust can't last for ever. You will be free to spend it as you like eventually, won't you?"
"Oh, yes—eventually," Neal said, with a hollow laugh. "The trust on my money expires when I'm thirty, which is not for five years yet. The girls have to wait till they marry—providing Charles approves their choice of husbands. Of course it was typical of the old man to tie the y. We expected that. The snag is watch-dog. It's no use getting
Mother's consent to a scheme, because he always vetoes it. She can't touch her capital either, she just gets the interest, and of course Grandmother dotes on Charles, so that's out too. In other words, we've got the cash, but we can't use it."
"I see. Yes, that must be very irritating," Joanna agreed thoughtfully. "If you had the money, I suppose you'd go to London and paint?"
"Like a shot from a gun," Neal said gloomily.
"But why does Charles object? Doesn't he think you have enough talent?" she asked.
"Lord knows. He hasn't said so, but I daresay that's the root of it," Neal answered, with a shrug. "His chief objection is that you can't make a living at painting—not until you reach the top flight. I don't give a damn whether I make a living or not, providing I can keep up the rent on a studio and eat occasionally."
Joanna smiled. "But then you've never been poor, have you?" she said gently. "And you haven't only yourself to consider. When you have a wife and children, you can't expect them to live on air."
"Marriage isn't in my scheme of things," Neal said bluntly.
"How can you tell? You aren't immune to falling in love, are you?" she asked, with a twinkle.
He laughed. "I daresay not, but that doesn't necessarily involve marriage, does it?"
Joanna's mouth curved. "Not for such a hardened rou£, I suppose," she conceded with an impish glance. "I think we should go back now. Grandmother may be anxious about us."
As they went out to the car park, Neal caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're a good sport, Joanna," he said warmly. "By the way, when are you going to be presented to the neighborhood? You can't spend all your time chatting to Gran."
Joanna had wondered about this herself. Now, on impulse
, she said, "To be frank, Neal, I don't think your mother is very anxious to 'present' me, as you put it. Perhaps she's afraid that it may cause a lot of talk. It is rather odd for a stray granddaughter to pop up from nowhere, you know."
"Mm, I suppose it is," he said carelessly. "Of course, poor old Mother's trouble is that she was as jealous as hell of Aunt Nina. I imagine that's why she's a bit chary of you."
"Jealous of my mother? But why?" Joanna asked quickly.
"Well, from all accounts, your mother was a stunner as a girl, and definitely the old boy's favorite before the rumpus," he explained. "Most girls feel a bit green if someone else catches all the attention, and I expect that applies to sisters too."
"Oh, so thafs it," Joanna said, half to herself.
"What's more, I don't think she's too happy at having you arrive at a strategic moment," Neal added, opening the door of the car for her.
Joanna waited for him to settle himself beside her.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Haven't you caught on yet?" he asked, with an amused glance. "Mamma is nursing fond hopes that when his lordship finally gets around to marriage, he won't look too far for his bride. Charles and Vanessa," he added, in case she hadn't followed him. "Mind you, if he's got any sense, he'll foil her maternal schemes. I'm not exactly devoted to Charles, but I think he could do better than to pick Van."
"What a strange thing to say. Aren't you fond of her?" Joanna asked.
"Oh, yes, I'm fond of her," Neal said airily. "But that doesn't blind me to her failings. Vanessa's the kind of girl who, if you made a pass at her"—he shot a laughing glance at her—"would either fell you with a nifty left hook or tell you not to mess up her hair."
"Well, I rather doubt if Charles makes passes at girls unless he's reasonably sure of the outcome," Joanna said. "Actually Cathy did mention something about Vanessa being fond of him to me. Will they be getting engaged quite soon, do you suppose?"
"Ah, now that's the prize question," Neal said, putting the car in gear and waiting for a lorry to pass. "So far there's been no sign of Charles capitulating. I think Mother's afraid he may prefer his freedom. He's been quite a gay dog in his day, but it's never got as far as marriage. Possibly it never will. Can't say I blame him. He's got a first-class housekeeper. Why should he take a wife?"
Joanna laughed and accused him of being a cynic, and presently they drew up outside Mere House and went indoors. Mrs. Carlyon and her daughter had gone to bed, but Vanessa was still in the drawing room, reading a book. She looked up as they entered and her eyes rested thoughtfully on her brother as he helped Joanna to remove her jacket.
"Grandmother is going to give a party for you, Joanna," she said. "She's been discussing it with Mummy all evening. She asked me to tell you about it when you came in."
"That's very kind of her. But won't it make a great deal of work for your mother?" Joanna said uncertainly.
"Oh, Mummy won't mind. She loves organizing things," Vanessa said pleasantly. Her manner was suddenly so cordial that Joanna was quite nonplussed.
"What sort of party? Mother's cronies, or a free-for-all?" Neal enquired.
"Quite a mixed list, I think," Vanessa answered. "Gran suggested that I should ask the Forbes twins and Mary Lester, and perhaps you could produce some men. There's going to be a small dinner party first and then a buffet and dancing for the latecomers."
Neal raised his eyebrows. "Quite a shindig, by the sound of it. Gran seems to have taken on a new lease of life since you arrived, Joanna. This house isn't exactly renowned for its merry-making."
"Have you brought a party dress with you, Joanna?" Vanessa asked.
"Yes, I think I have a frock which will do—unless it's going to be a very grand occasion," Joanna said, still greatly perplexed by her cousin's change of front. "What will you wear, Vanessa?"
"I think it's time I had a new evening dress," Vanessa said. "I'll have a look round the shops tomorrow. As Neal says, it's not often that we have a party here, although there are several good dances in the town during the winter."
She began to question Joanna about the price and quality of clothes and accessories in Paris, but although her interest in the subject appeared to be genuine, Joanna had the uncomfortable conviction that it was part of an act, the purpose of which she was at a loss to divine.
Perhaps Neal also sensed this, or perhaps he was bored by a topic which excluded him. At any rate, it was not long before he suggested that they should go to bed.
* * *
The following morning, Joanna was invited to accompany her aunt and Vanessa into Merefield for shopping and morning coffee.
It seemed that Mrs. Durrant had also had a change of heart towards her niece; as Joanna went upstairs to put on street clothes, she felt more than ever confused by this sudden volte-face.
Changing her dress for a suit of caramel linen, she pinned on a lighter straw pill-box and found the gloves that matched it. Then, stepping into plain calf pumps, she checked the contents of her bag and added a dean handkerchief.
Her cousin was waiting in the hall when she went downstairs.
"Mummy's seeing Alice about the grocery order. She won't belong," Vanessa said, her eyes on Joanna's suit. "You needn't have bothered to dress up," she added, looking away.
"Oh—do I look wrong for shopping?" Joanna asked anxiously.
Vanessa gave her another swift glance. "It doesn't matter particularly," she said, with a shrug. "We go in for country clothes, but I suppose you haven't got any."
Joanna looked at her cousin's floral shirtwaister and pastel cardigan.
"No, I'm afraid I haven't," she said awkwardly.
Mrs. Durrant came out of the kitchen. She too was wearing a flower-patterned dress under a knitted jacket. She too appraised her niece with a hint of censure, although she made no remark.
Sitting in the back of the car, Joanna tried not to mind their dissapproval. But, as they parked the car in a side street and mingled with the other shoppers, she was uncomfortably conscious that people were eyeing her and even turning around to stare. At the grocery shop Mrs. Durrant chose bacon and cheese, and left a list of other provisions to be delivered. Then they went to the library to change Mrs. Carlyon's books for her. By this time it was nearing eleven, and her aunt led the way into a large department store where they took a lift to the top floor restaurant. It was already crowded with women, and as they made their way to a corner table, Mrs. Durrant nodded and smiled to many of them and stopped once or twice to exchange a greeting. But, although it was apparent that they were curious about her, Joanna noticed that her aunt did not wait for an introduction to become necessary.
"Oh, there are Angela and her mother. I want to ask her something. I shan't be a minute," Vanessa said, as they were about to sit down. And, leaving them, she hurried over to a distant table where a middle-aged woman and a young girl were sitting.
Mrs. Durrant drew off her white fabric gloves and ordered three coffees, her eyes ranging over the room to see who else was present. She had not spokn to Joanna since they left the house, and her niece began to think that her unexpected friendliness at breakfast time had been assumed for Mrs. Carlyon's benefit.
Suddenly her aunt gave an exclamation of surprise and said, "Why, here's Charles. I wonder what he wants?"
Joanna looked up and saw Charles coming towards them between the tables.
"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I thought I'd find you here. Can I join you?"
"Why, of course. We're delighted to see you," Mrs. Durrant said, looking pleased. "Vanessa has just gone over to speak to Angela Maybury. She won't be long. Did Mother tell you where we were?"
Charles sat down opposite Joanna and cast a faintly derisive eye round the groups of chattering women.
"Yes, she phoned me about this party you're throwing, and as I had half an hour to spare I thought I'd come up and find you." He glanced at Joanna. "You're looking very chic this morning. I'm afraid it won't endear you to the local ma
trons."
Joanna colored slightly and kept silent.
"It's a pity Mother didn't mention the idea when you were with us, Charles," her aunt said briskly. "I tried to dissuade her from it, but she got quite worked up, so I was obliged to agree. It's not that I mind arranging it, but I'm wondering if it's likely to be too much for her. It isn't as if Joanna were going to be with us for long. I'm sure she doesn't mind whether she meets our friends or not."
"No, I daresay she doesn't, but Grandmother seems very set on it, so we may as well please her," Charles said easily. "What would you like me to do? Lay on the drinks?"
"Yes, if you would. And we'd better go over the guest list together. It's very short notice for everyone, I'm afraid," Mrs. Durrant said with a frown. "Ah, here's Vanessa."
Charles rose to his feet and drew out a chair for Vanessa, who greeted him with evident pleasure.
"I thought you disapproved of our morning coffee sessions, Charles?" she remarked.
Her cousin shrugged his broad shoulders, his glance ranging over the groups of chattering women with a glint of sardonic amusement.
"I wouldn't put it as strongly as that," he said negligently. Then, turning to Joanna, "You probably haven't realized it, but this is one of the sacred rituals of the English middle classes — an hour's gossip over what passes for coffee every morning."
"I don't know why you should be so scathing about it, Charles. It seems to be a very harmless practice, and I've no doubt Frenchwomen also meet for coffee at mid-morning," said Mrs. Durrant.
"Do they, Joanna?" he enquired.
"I really don't know," she replied uncertainly. "I was usually still in bed at this time, and I didn't mix with many married women."
"Who did you know?" Vanessa asked curiously.
"Oh, the other girls in the cabaret and the customers at the cafd where I lived. They were mostly local tradesmen and stall-holders from the flower market," Joanna explained unthinkingly.
