To Catch A Unicorn

by Sara Seale

  "People," she said, exasperated, "always make that sound

  like a dirty accusation. I must give a very poor impression of femininity."

  He put out a hand and touched her hair with uncharacteristic familiarity, tucking a loose strand behind her ear in an odd little gesture of intimacy.

  "Don't resent your youth," he said. "It's part of that charm you have such doubts about."

  She looked up at him in surprise and her eyes widened under his own very blue regard.

  "How surprising you are," she said shyly.

  "Did you think my boastful brother had a monopoly of the Trevayne ways with women?" he retorted, and now the little derisive twist was back, pulling up the corner of his mouth as he smiled with the old, careless tolerance, for foolish remarks. "You'll get the measure of us in time, Miss Laura Smith, but be sure you don't gather too many misconceptions in the process. Now, make a start on enjoying this so-called holiday of yours. Tomorrow's the twenty-first of March, the first day of spring. I must make it my business, mustn't I, to show you that spring really does come to Penzion?"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The first day of spring ... the words held a promise that had something of Nicky's simple magic.

  Bella came in with the tray of early tea which she insisted on bringing up each morning and came to stand behind Laura at the window.

  "See the young green thrusting through the brown of the heather?" she said, pointing. "That's the first bracken fronds starting to unfurl. ... Garden flowers don't do up here, but if you walk along the headland you'll find thrift and periwinkle and pimpernel, and a hundred varieties of wild things, like creeping jenny and the little rock plants—only you have to look for them."

  Even as she spoke, Laura began to see with fresh vision, and wanted to get out of doors at once and explore for herself.

  "Aren't there old Cornish customs for the first day of spring?" she asked, pouring out tea.

  "There's the Spring Festival, but that comes in April or May, and isn't much observed now," Bella answered. "I always think it's such a pity when the old traditions die. The Hobby-Horse parade used to be one of the local sights, and in Zachary Trevayne's time the custom was still kept up here, with the men from the quarry making the parade, but Dominic's let it lapse. He ought to marry, of course, and then the old customs might start again ..."

  "Old Mr. Trevayne must have had a large streak of make-believe in him—all those odd things he collected in the hall to impress visitors, and parades and processions and things," Laura said, and Bella smiled.

  "Yes, he was very like a child in some ways—with a child's stubborn refusal to admit his own mistake: too, and a child's unreasoning spite," Bella said, and her smile faded. "Troy, of course, inherited the same quirks, so thai breach was never

  healed. He was too proud, or possibly too vindictive, even to let his father know that he had a grandchild."

  "Peregrine said that day in the train that old feuds held a family together—provided meat to get your teeth into when the fires were burning low. It sounded terribly primitive.to me," said Laura.

  "Peregrine likes to talk for effect. He and Troy both got that from their father, along with other traits. Dom has much more of his mother in him, but of course his early years were spent with her ... I suppose that's why I spoilt the other two. Even Zachary was indulgent when it came to taking them into the business. Dom started at the bottom, you know, and it might have been better ..." Bella broke off vaguely.

  "Which was your favourite?" Laura asked, knowing it would not be Dominic.

  "Oh, Perry, my dear, for I took him when his mother died, poor thing—but I fear I was unwise in giving in so much to both of them, or so Dom tells me now. They were so much younger than him, you see, and I had an affection for their father."

  "Why did old Mr. Trevayne take such an exception to his son's marriage?" Laura asked. "I know he had his heart set on someone else, but that's surely no reason for such drastic measures in these days?"

  "Well, dear child, Troy had already got the girl pregnant, and since she came of a family that was well known and respected round here, it was a slur on the Trevaynes when he refused to marry her," she said, sounding surprised that such things needed explaining, and Laura experienced a little shock of distaste. Such situations, she knew, were common enough, but she wondered how much Cleo had known when she made that runaway marriage.

  "Yes, I see," she said a little helplessly. "That would explain a lot, of course."

  "The whole affair was very awkward—very awkward indeed," Bella observed with the dispassionate consideration of someone to whom the story no longer mattered. "Dom, of course, didn't make things easier by offering marriage himself

  and being turned down."

  "Dominic did that—just to save the family pride?" Laura exclaimed, and Bella looked at her with mild surprise.

  "Well, not entirely, dear child," she replied, making ineffectual snatches at one of the perpetually straying wisps of hair. "He was in love with the young woman—she was his girl in the first place, you see."

  "Oh, no! Then the old father hadn't picked her for Troy at all?"

  "Naturally not. Dom was the eldest son and his children the heirs. Hasn't your cousin told you that old story?"

  "No—she thought Troy was being forced into a loveless marriage by a slightly crazy old man."

  "Is that what Troy told her? Ah well, I suppose it's possible he did. He only charmed the girl away from Dom for spite in the first place, you know, just as Perry charms little Nicky now."

  "But why—why do they like to play such cruel tricks?"

  "Because, dear child, Dom is the eldest, and Zachary's will made unfair provision—also he's different. The pack tends to turn on the odd one out, you know."

  Laura finished her tea and began to dress. This very different version of the old story had shocked her profoundly and she wondered uneasily how much Cleo had known of the truth.

  "Why didn't they marry—Dom and the girl, I mean?" she asked. "It was pretty decent of him, don't you think, to offer to father another man's child?"

  "Oh, yes," said Bella indifferently, as though that particular aspect of the affair was unremarkable. "The girl wouldn't have him, as I think I told you. The Cornish have a stubborn pride, you know, and she said she did not wish to save her face at Dom's expense, but really, I think, she wanted Troy and wouldn't settle for second-best."

  "Second-best? Dominic's worth ten of his brothers!"

  "Oh, yes, dear child, but unfortunately that's seldom sufficient to counteract pure animal charm, and then, of course, the fight settled things. Women tend to support the victor."

  "What fight?" asked Laura, remembering the tension which had opened up so alarmingly between the brothers only yesterday, and which at the time had seemed so disproportionate.

  "Well, Troy, you see, tried to brazen things out by denying the child was his and suggesting Dom was responsible, and Dom knocked him down, and it became a brawl. ... When Troy looked like getting the worst of it he managed to palm one of the sharp flints lying about and slashed Dom's cheek

  open, then kicked him half-conscious as he fell____The quarry

  workers turned on Troy then, and drove him out of the district. We never saw him again."

  "What happened to the girl?" Laura asked, wondering how in such a sparse and scattered community such public indiscretions were lived down, but Bella was already picking up Laura's tray preparatory to departure for the kitchen and her eyes looked vague again.

  "The girl? She miscarried, I believe, though I'm not very sure, for the family moved away from the district. Someone told me she had married after all, but Dom never mentions her, so perhaps it was only rumour, and that, as you know, dear child, is very unreliable."

  "Who's unreliable?" demanded Cleo, bouncing into the room without knocking. She' was still in her dressing-gown and obviously not in the best of tempers. "Aren't you ever coming to see to Nicky, Laura? He's driving me frant
ic with his demands to get up, while you and Bella are just gossiping."

  "I should have thought, dear Cleo, that you could have dressed the child yourself for once," observed Bella, offering such an unexpected reproof that Cleo looked quite surprised.

  "Yes, I suppose I could," she said, "but since Laura's here for that purpose, I don't see why she shouldn't earn her keep."

  "You do not pay for her keep—or for your own," Bella said, quite without malice. She was simply stating another opinion.

  "Really, Bella!" Cleo exclaimed, a little annoyed. "That wasn't very nice! Nicky and I are invited guests and also part of the family. It's scarcely your place to criticise me, is it?"

  "Fact, dear child, not criticism—not at all the same thing," Bella replied, quite unruffled. "It's the first day of spring, so you must expect some changes—even rites, perhaps. It's also Sunday, now I come to think of it, which explains why the boys are not at work. They'll be clamouring for their breakfast, so don't keep me any longer."

  "Sometimes I think she's more than just eccentric," Cleo said as she disappeared. "Who were you tearing to shreds when I came in? Me?"

  "You were never mentioned," Laura replied with perfect truth. She had no means of knowing what version of the scandal Cleo had heard from her husband, but neither had she any wish to discuss such ugly matters until her own balance was restored.

  She sat down at the dressing-table to do her face, and Cleo hovering impatiently in the background said:

  "Oh, do come on, for heaven's sake! Leave your face till you've seen to Nicky—he won't notice if your nose isn't powdered, and neither will anyone else, I imagine."

  "Very likely, but my morale would suffer. My face, unlike yours, isn't at its best still wearing traces of yesterday's lipstick," said Laura, proceeding with unhurried calm to apply the few aids to beauty she afforded her face.

  "What's eating you, Laura? You're not often bitchy," Cleo asked with honest curiosity.

  "Was that being bitchy?" Laura enquired, innocently flicking a comb through her soft, fine hair, and silently deploring its trick of immediately falling back into a childish bob about her neck.

  "Not really, I suppose, and I can't talk, can I?" Cleo said with the occasional engaging flash of honesty which could always melt her cousin. "You look very nice, darling, very nice and very jeune fille, if that's what you were after. Now, do come along and do your stuff. Be seeing you ..."

  Laura's early morning pleasure in the first day of spring had been somewhat diminished by the time breakfast was over,

  but Dominic evidently had not forgotten his promise of yesterday.

  "I thought we might take the car and show you the sights if it's fine," he said. "You haven't forgotten the date, have you?"

  Laura's eagerness returned at once, coupled in the light of fresh knowledge with a desire to please him.

  "No, of course not. I've been dying to get out of doors and look for all the things Bella pointed out from my window," she said, and Bella, as usual, cleaning up any remains left in the dishes, loth to let anything go into the kitchen that could be reasonably disposed of at the table, beamed vaguely on everyone and said she would take charge of Nicky.

  "Well," Dominic said, "I thought we'd take the boy with us and picnic. I haven't really had much opportunity for getting to know my nephew as yet. Would you like that, Nicky?"

  "No," said Nicky discouragingly, and Laura administered a half-hearted rebuke. Dominic was only to be commended, she knew, for making an effort to establish a working relationship between them, but it was not a propitious moment to force issues. The boy had started the day badly with a mood of perversity, and a long expedition would, she thought, put a strain on all of them.

  "Your mother will come too," Dominic said kindly, refusing to take notice of rudeness, "and Moo-moo, of course. Wouldn't you like that?"

  Peregrine, who had been lounging back in his chair, throwing scraps to Rowley, taking no part in the discussion but absorbing each reaction with enjoyment, winked across at Nicky and observed with a conspiratorial air:

  "I think we'll all go—take two cars and do the thing properly. You could have come with me in that sports job you like so much, but if you'd rather stay at home I'll take someone else."

  Laura supposed she ought to be grateful to Peregrine for adjusting the balance so neatly, but catching the momentary disappointment in Dominic's eyes, she felt an unreasonable resentment for his brother's effortless knack of saying the

  right thing at the right moment.

  "Well then, that's settled," Dominic said, rising from the table. "You'll come, won't you, Bella? You can detect the signs of spring for Laura better than I can. Perry, if you're taking the boy with you, you'd better put the hood up, the wind's still cold. Laura, if you'd go up and tell Cleo to be ready by eleven-thirty, that should give her plenty of time to dress."

  Having issued his instructions with authoritative briskness, he left the room to start his routine Sunday morning chores of wood-chopping, yard-swilling and attention to the boiler-house and light plant.

  "Home life with a predatory overlord, eh, Laura?" said Peregrine, cocking an insolent eyebrow at her, but she was not prepared just then to laugh with him at his brother's expense.

  "You talk a lot of nonsense and you like to show off," she said in much the same tones she used to Nicky, and he suddenly abandoned his lolling position in the chair and made a dive for her.

  "You won't put me in my place, you know, with nursery tactics," he said, and kissed her roughly. "Now scream and say how dare you! Why don't you?"

  "Because," said Laura, shaken but undaunted, "that's exactly what you expect me to do. Your technique isn't very expert, if I may say so."

  "You cheeky young devil!" he exclaimed, and kissed her again, this time with a little more care. It was only the sound of Dominic's voice in the hall which made him release her, and Laura, knowing her face to be flaming with that uncontrollable habit of blushing, turned quickly away as Dominic appeared in the doorway.

  "Looking for me, Dom?" Peregrine asked, with unruffled composure.

  "Yes. I want a hand with that door in the wash-house, it's off its hinges again," his brother replied, and turned on his heel and went, without glancing at Laura.

  It was a day, she thought, going upstairs to acquaint Cleo of their plans, that augured badly, despite its early promise.

  Peregrine was evidently determined to be teasing and provocative, Nicky would become difficult and overtired, and Cleo herself showed no great enthusiasm for the expedition.

  However, by half-past eleven they were assembled in the hall as directed, Cleo looking charming and aggressively feminine in tight green slacks and a small jacket which cunningly emphasised the curves of her hips. Nicky, Laura was relieved to see, now seemed elated in a well-behaved fashion at the prospect of a treat he was persuaded had been purely devised for him, and even Peregrine had shed his affectation of Sunday indolence and assumed a hearty, schoolboy air.

  Only Dominic seemed slightly ill at ease as they piled into the two cars, as if, thought Laura, he was unused to family expeditions and the organised domesticity of picnics with their attendant drawbacks and doubtful pleasures.

  "Have you never done this before?" she asked him as he tucked her into the back of his car next to Bella, and he gave her a wry glance of amusement.

  "You're quick, aren't you!" he replied. "No, I can't say Penzion's very used to the more civilised country pursuits. Women, you see, don't stay here very often." He had, she remembered, made much the same statement that other Sunday on the headland.

  "Then it's a good thing Cleo and I have come, isn't it?" she said with that bright little nursery air of encouragement that always amused Peregrine, and he smiled.

  "A very good thing, Miss Smith," he agreed with suitable gravity, and slammed the door.

  They would go by the cliff road over Zion Head to see the view from Ram Tor, Bella told her, pleased by the rare opportunity afforded her to
turn tourist guide. She babbled on happily about hut-circles, Druid stones, wishing wells, and a host of other attractions, but, as it turned out, Laura saw none of these things.

  Peregrine had shot ahead and was soon out of sight, demonstrating, for Nicky's delight and his own, the superior speed of his car to Dominic's, but they came upon him pulled

  up by the side of the road at an exposed spot not at all suited to picnicking in the teeth of a brisk March breeze, declaring he would go no further with a brat who threw up all over his car.

  Cleo, remembering that the expedition had been arranged as a gesture of good will by Dominic to further better relationships, felt impelled to offer ineffectual maternal aid, but it was Laura who cleaned him up and who would have dealt, too, with Peregrine's car if Dominic had not pushed her aside and told his brother to do his own dirty work.

  "If you hadn't been showing off, driving on your brakes and taking corners on two wheels, the boy probably wouldn't have been sick," he said, and Peregrine, though he turned sulky, obeyed him, but with no very kindly reception of Nicky's tearful apologies.

  "Never mind, old man," Dominic said, observing the boy's crestfallen face. He offered a friendly hand and for an instant it seemed as if the child would respond, but Peregrine chose to crack a feeble joke to win him back, and the moment was lost.

  "I vote we eat our grub and go home," he said, burying the last of the soiled newspapers under a gorse bush. "Why you had to think up such an unlikely refinement as a picnic in March, Dom, I can't imagine. For God's sake let's get it over with and get back to our normal Sunday sloth."

  "There's nothing to stop you taking yourself off," Dominic replied, controlling his temper. "In fact it's a good idea. If you're going to behave like a spoilt child, we'll all be better off without you."

  "In that case I'll stay—just to nark you," said Peregrine with insolent cheerfulness, and Laura, knowing how easily a quarrel could spring up out of nothing, said quickly:

  "Let's have a picnic down there in that little hollow. The boulders will shelter us."