The House on the Cliff

by D. E. Stevenson

“What are we going to do to-morrow?” asked Glen, rolling over on the rug and exposing his back to the warm sunshine.

  Elfrida had made no plans for entertaining her guest; she had no idea how long he intended to stay. He had said “a few days” but that might mean anything.

  “We’ll go out to lunch,” he suggested.

  “A picnic?”

  “Heaven forbid! There are few entertainments I dislike more. I’ll take you to The Grand Hotel at Morchester. The food is eatable and it will do you good to return to civilisation.”

  “Have I become a savage?”

  “Slightly uncivilised,” said Glen teasingly. “You don’t even put a dab of powder on your nice little nose! But, not to worry, we’ll go to Morchester to-morrow and you’ll see the world and his wife.”

  “What about me?” asked Patrick, who had approached while they were talking and had overheard the last few words.

  “You can come too. Won’t that be ‘gorgeous’?” said Glen, laughing.

  “Super gorgeous!” cried Patrick joyfully.

  *

  24

  Elfrida spent another night in Judy’s room. She had asked Mrs. Chowne’s permission and Mrs. Chowne had replied in her usual sensible way, “Yes, do, Miss Elfrida. It’s such a waste when sheets are only used once; it doesn’t seem worth the trouble of washing them. You had better dirty them out.”

  Elfrida had realised that this was an invitation to spend several nights in Judy’s bed—a week if she liked—and had thanked her hostess suitably.

  When she went in to breakfast she found a letter from Ronnie lying on the table and opened it with a smile of pleasant anticipation; Ronnie’s letters were always entertaining . . .

  The letter was an answer to her own long letter, telling him about the luncheon party at Winford Hall and about her plans for the garden, and about the delights of swimming in the bay. She had not told him of her alarming experience because she was afraid it would worry him but had merely said that Mr. Cobley had warned her about the curious phenomenon at ebb-tide so she bathed when the tide was coming in.

  Ronnie commented on all this in an amusing manner and then went on, “There’s a big case pending and I am doing a good deal of work for Uncle Bob. It would be easier if there were not so many parties; there is some sort of party nearly every night and Mother likes me to go with her and take part in the fun. She says ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ but working and playing all the time is making this Jack a very tired boy. It is hot in London—hot and stuffy and dusty—I have to put on a clean collar three times a day. Perhaps this information is not very interesting to a girl! I am afraid this letter is not very interesting, but Jack feels dull in spite of the parties. I have read your letter several times; it is like a breath of fresh air. Write me another letter soon, dear Elfrida Jane . . .”

  Elfrida felt a little worried when she had read Ronnie’s letter. The first part was amusing, of course, but the second part was “not like Ronnie.” He was usually so full of life and health and strength, bubbling over with vigour. Perhaps he needed a holiday . . . perhaps he could get a few days off and come to Mountain Cross? She decided to write and suggest this; it would be delightful to see Ronnie again.

  She was still standing there, reading Ronnie’s letter for the second time, when Glen and Patrick came in.

  “It’s a lovely day for our expedition,” said Glen cheerfully, as he helped himself to half a grapefruit.

  “Yes, lovely,” Elfrida agreed.

  “You’re taking me, aren’t you?” asked Patrick anxiously.

  “I said I would take you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Sometimes you say things and don’t mean them.”

  Elfrida had a moment of alarm, but it was needless for Glen was in a very good humour this morning.

  “Don’t worry, Jacko,” he said laughing. “You’re more like a monkey than ever when you put on that worried frown.”

  “What time are we starting?” asked Elfrida.

  “We shall have to start about eleven,” Glen replied. “The child wants bathing pants and a spade to dig on the beach. I expect we shall be able to get seaside equipment for the young in Morchester.”

  Patrick said nothing but his worried frown vanished like magic: his face had become pink and his eyes were shining with delight.

  *

  Elfrida was almost as excited as Patrick at the prospect of the expedition. She had decided that she must “dress up” for the occasion; tweeds and a string of pearls were the correct wear when visiting her neighbours but definitely not correct for an outing with Glen. Her London clothes were hanging in her wardrobe—she had not worn them for months. She must look for something very pretty, something that would show Glen she was not a savage . . . and she would find her Beauty Box and make up a little. That would show him!

  Elfrida was surprised to discover that most of her London clothes were much too tight (Mrs. Chowne’s bread-and-butter puddings were responsible) but she managed to get into a silk frock, patterned with blue flowers and she found a little black straw hat which Marjory had said was becoming. It was bonnet-shape with a blue flower beneath the brim. Foundation cream, powder, lipstick and a carefully applied touch of eye-shadow was all she needed from the Beauty Box. She found suitable gloves and a small black hand-bag and stood for a few moments surveying herself critically in the full-length mirror.

  Not bad, she thought, nodding at the picture of the London Girl.

  Glen and Patrick were waiting for her when she went downstairs (the metamorphosis had taken a little longer than she had expected). Glen was arrayed in a light grey suit; the boy in corduroy trousers and a shabby green pullover.

  Glen’s eyes took her in at a glance. He smiled, and opening the door of his car, said, “Get in, beautiful lady! you’ve kept us waiting for ten minutes . . . but patience has its rewards. Unfortunately Jacko has nothing fit to wear.”

  “He’s all right like that, Glen!”

  “He doesn’t match,” objected Glen.

  She was too happy to continue the argument: Glen was pleased with her appearance; the sun was shining; she was sitting beside Glen in his comfortable car, gliding smoothly through the beautiful country. There were woods and fields and little rivers, their waters sparkling in the sunshine; there were churches standing boldly upon hillocks, or nestling shyly among trees.

  This was a new part of the country to Elfrida, she had no idea where they were going, but Glen seemed familiar with the district; he pointed out various objects of interest and stopped the car in a village on the banks of a river near a hog-backed bridge where there was a row of half-timbered cottages.

  “Look at them, Elfie!” he said.

  Certainly they were worth seeing; they were old—probably they had been standing here beside the hog-backed bridge when Drake was a boy—some of them were adorned with climbing roses, others with clematis or ceanothus, and all their little gardens were full of summer flowers.

  A voice from the back of the car exclaimed, “Oo, how pretty! Can I get out and look at the flowers properly?”

  “No time to spare if you want that spade,” replied Glen.

  Until now Patrick had been very quiet, but as they approached Morchester he began to chatter:

  “This is where I lived with Mrs. Landor,” he said. “I wonder if we’ll see Mrs. Landor . . . or perhaps Mrs. Fulbright and her baby.”

  “You won’t see anyone you know at The Grand Hotel,” said Glen.

  “But we might see them when we’re buying my spade; Mrs. Landor always does her shopping in the morning. Oh, look, Miss Ware! That’s my school!”

  “It isn’t your school any more,” said Glen.

  “Will I be going to school in Brittany?”

  “No,” said Glen.

  “You’re going there for a holiday,” put in Elfrida.

  “But where will I be going to school afterwards?”

>   “Oh, shut up, Jacko,” said Glen. “We’ve heard enough from you.”

  “I just wondered . . .” murmured Patrick and relapsed into silence.

  Elfrida was surprised to see that Morchester was such a large town; there were fine buildings, wide streets and shops with summer frocks and hats displayed in their plate-glass windows. There was a great deal of traffic in the main thoroughfare so Glen was unable to stop; he drove on until he came to the car park belonging to The Grand Hotel.

  “This is where we lunch,” he said. “Jacko and I have some shopping to do but we’ll be as quick as we can. If you want anything you’ll find the shops quite good . . . or you can wait for us in the garden of the hotel.”

  The shops had looked tempting but Elfrida decided not to be tempted; she had spent more than she intended upon pigs, and the two hundred pounds—which had seemed riches—was dwindling in a somewhat alarming manner. She strolled round the corner of the hotel and found herself in a very pleasant garden with wide lawns and shady trees and flower-beds full of roses. They were beautiful roses; she wandered round looking at them and admiring them and memorising the names on the tickets . . . perhaps someday she would be able to get her own garden cleared and have some really good roses.

  Having looked at the roses carefully, she sat down upon a seat beneath a tree and watched the people.

  It had always amused Elfrida to watch people—and wonder about them—and she had been “out of the world!” for so long that it was very entertaining indeed. She saw what was obviously a honeymoon couple wander past, so absorbed in one another that they had no eyes for anyone or anything else; two young men in tennis kit with racquets under their arms hurried by, talking earnestly. There was a young mother with a child of about five years old who wanted to pick some roses and screamed when her mother would not let her.

  Presently an elderly gentleman and a beautifully-dressed lady with blue hair came and sat down on the seat beside Elfrida; they were in the middle of a serious conversation.

  “She’s most unsuitable,” declared the lady.

  “She’s a pretty creature,” objected the gentleman.

  “She uses cheap scent.”

  “Perhaps you could give her a hint——”

  “Oh, it isn’t the perfume! It shows a lack of refinement which is most undesirable. A woman who uses cheap scent could do anything,” declared the lady didactically.

  “Would it be a good plan to give her a bottle of Chanel?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? I’m quite willing to——”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Silence fell. The gentleman began to poke holes in the lawn with his stick.

  Elfrida felt sorry for them; it seemed a pity that they could not understand each other when she saw both points of view so clearly. She also felt sorry for the pretty creature who used cheap scent. Perhaps she could not afford to buy good scent and would have been delighted to receive a bottle of Chanel; possibly it might have weaned her from her undesirable habit.

  *

  Glen and Patrick were away for over an hour (which seemed more than ample time to buy bathing pants and a spade) but Elfrida was so interested in “the world and his wife” that she did not mind waiting. Presently, she saw Glen approaching followed by a small boy in grey flannel shorts, a white shirt and a blue blazer . . . she did not recognise Patrick until he ran to her across the grass!

  “Are you surprised?” he asked excitedly. “Do you like me? Am I your sort of boy now?”

  “You’re simply gorgeous,” declared Elfrida taking him in her arms and hugging him.

  “I had my hair cut, Miss Ware. That’s what took so long——”

  Glen was smiling. “What a difference clothes make!” he said. “We’re all of a piece now. Let’s go and have lunch.”

  They were “all of a piece” and they made an entrance. The large, luxurious dining-room was full of people but the head-waiter saw them at once and hurried forward to meet them and led them to a table in the bow-window. Glen had that effect upon head-waiters; he was never neglected, never offered an inconvenient table near the service door. Glen looked like Somebody (and, of course, he is Somebody, in his own particular line, thought Elfrida). As she followed the waiter across the room she became conscious of observation and realised that many of the diners were interested in the almost regal progress. What were they thinking? Probably that she was Glen’s wife and the boy was their child!

  Glen seemed to have got the same idea for when they were seated he leant forward and said, “I’m proud of my family.”

  Elfrida’s eyes twinkled. “They recognise Glen Siddons.”

  “I doubt it. We’re a long way from London. No, they’re all thinking how fortunate I am to have such a charming wife and a son at Beechings.”

  “A son at Beechings?” she asked in surprise.

  “It’s a well-known prep. school not far from here. The boys wear blue blazers . . . but of course they haven’t the sole right to wear blue blazers,” added Glen, chuckling.

  “I suppose not,” said Elfrida doubtfully. She saw now that the blazer had a crest embroidered on the pocket; the device appertaining to Beechings, of course!

  Elfrida felt unhappy about it; not because she was in any doubt as to Glen’s right to buy a blue blazer for his son—even with a device on the pocket—but because Glen wanted to do so. It showed a strange lack in Glen, a lack of good taste. (This same lack of good taste was shown by a man who bought and wore an Old Etonian tie when he had never set foot within the portals of the famous and venerable college.)

  Elfrida thought of Lucius Babbington. What would Lucius say to the purchaser of the blue blazer? It was an involuntary thought and not a happy one.

  “What’s the matter, Elfie?” asked Glen.

  “Nothing—really,” she replied, trying to smile. She added, “This is a beautiful hotel, Glen. It’s very kind of you to bring me here and give me such a marvellous lunch. Have you been here before?”

  “Once or twice,” said Glen. “It’s the best place to stay in this part of the world and a place where you can be sure of seeing interesting people. I like the look of that party near the door. There’s a pretty woman in a red hat and an older woman who looks like a duchess. I wonder who they are.”

  Elfrida glanced at the party and agreed that they looked interesting.

  No more was said at the time, but afterwards, when Elfrida and Glen and Patrick were having coffee in the lounge, the interesting party came in and settled down in a far-off corner.

  “I’m sure I know that woman,” said Glen suddenly. “I’ve seen her before, somewhere or other, and she looked at me as if she knew me.”

  “The one in the red hat?” asked Elfrida.

  “Yes. Perhaps I had better go and speak to her.” He rose without more ado and made his way across the big room.

  Elfrida could not hear what was being said but she saw explanations and introductions taking place and after a few moments another chair was found and Glen was invited to sit down. It had been a cheerful party before, but now it was gay . . . Glen was charming them, he had them all laughing merrily. A girl of about twelve years old produced a little book and Glen took out his pen and wrote in it. The book was handed round and they all looked at it—and laughed.

  Elfrida was watching the little scene and smiling to herself in amusement.

  Patrick had been watching, too. Suddenly he said, “Glen is acting, isn’t he, Miss Ware?”

  She turned and looked at the child in astonishment.

  “Acting?” she said. “What makes you say that, Patrick?”

  “Well, he isn’t Glen, really. What did he write in that girl’s book?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. Somehow the child’s remark had given her a little shock.

  Presently the “interesting party” began to make a move. They stood up, still talking and laughing, and collected their belongings—gloves and handbags—and went away.


  Glen returned to Elfrida and Patrick, “Nice people,” he said as he sat down. “The older woman is Lady Winterton; she saw me as Ralph de Coverley in Silver Bells. It’s amazing how many people have seen me in one thing or another. I would have introduced you, Elfie, but they were in a hurry. I hope you didn’t think it rude of me.”

  “Of course not! I was much happier sitting here with Patrick. I’m not good with strangers; you told me yourself I wasn’t very good value socially . . . and it was Glen Siddons they wanted to see.”

  He smiled and agreed, adding, “Lady Winterton asked who you were and when I told her she said she had heard about you from some friends of hers who live quite near you. She would have liked to meet you but they are going to a wedding and didn’t want to be late.”

  “Who were the friends?”

  “I think Barrington was the name. She said he had been to Eton with her son.”

  “The Babbingtons,” said Elfrida, nodding.

  “You never told me you knew any people in this part of the world.”

  “Oh, I know quite a lot of people.”

  “I’d like to meet some of your neighbours, Elfie.”

  “We must arrange it,” she said . . . but somehow she was not very happy about the idea. This was strange for Glen was so charming and was such a success with everyone!

  “You could throw a party, couldn’t you?” suggested Glen. “Tell them it’s ‘to meet Glen Siddons’.”

  Elfrida was looking a little doubtful.

  “Don’t worry, Elfie,” said Glen laughing. “The party will go with a bang—I promise you that. Meanwhile what would you like to do this afternoon? There’s a very good film at The Picture House; Miss Brookes told me about it.”

  Elfrida looked at him in astonishment; she had heard him say more than once that “the silver screen” was a very poor form of entertainment and the ruination of the theatre.

  “You’d like to see it, wouldn’t you?” asked Glen.

  “Do you want to see it, Glen?”

  “It would be good fun,” he replied. “We had better get moving, Elfie. We don’t want to miss the beginning, do we?”

  It was late when they got home to Mountain Cross and Elfrida was very tired. The film had been quite unsuitable for Patrick but Glen had insisted on staying until the end.