by Anne Hampson
'I suggest,' said Heather, 'that as Shena and Robbie haven't had a similar treat before, they should come in first so they can take a good look at the room on their own.'
'That's a good idea,' agreed Beth. 'I'll go and fetch them. But when she returned Andrew was also with her. He stood by the door; Gail looked at him and thought she saw a strange emotional movement in his throat.
'Mummy!' breathed Shena, her small hands clasped tightly against her. 'Oh, what have you done! I've never had a party like this before. It's beautiful!' She and her brother just looked round in rapturous wonderment for a while before Shena spoke to Andrew. 'Daddy, isn't it wonderful?'
'It is, Shena.' He seemed unable to articulate further words for a moment, but eventually he looked down affectionately at his daughter and told her to thank her aunties and her mummy for all the trouble they had taken. This she did at once; they smiled at her and then Heather nudged Gail, drawing her attention to Robbie, standing there, still wide-eyed, but with his mouth now obviously watering as his gaze was directed at the table. 'Will it be like this at my party?' he asked on becoming aware of the amused stares of all four adults. 'Of course, Robbie,' answered Gail, and her husband added, 'We shall have to ask your aunties to come and help, shan't we? Robbie's birthday is on Christmas Eve,' he informed Beth and Heather.
His words were clearly an invitation and, judging by their expressions, they were readily accepting the invitation. Gail looked away, a tightness in her throat. This was more than she could take in all at once and she was a little afraid of disgracing herself by allowing the tears to escape. 'Shall I let the others come in?' Andrew asked, and Heather nodded. 'Yes, we're quite ready for them.' And she added ruefully, 'You're sitting with them, and the din will be awful. Do you mind?' 'I shall thoroughly enjoy it,' he replied, and meant it.
Bedlam reigned for the next hour or two and then parents began appearing to take their children home. Shena was put to bed, tired but happy. After Gail had tucked her in she sat up, throwing her arms round Gail's neck and hugging her.
'I love you-my mummy,' she said, kissing her. 'I love you very much. Thank you for my beautiful party!'
'And I love you, my pet,' responded Gail huskily, ignoring Shena's last sentence. 'Goodnight, darling.'
Her eyes were bright when she joined the others downstairs. They were in the sitting-room and both her sisters were on the couch, exhausted. 'I always say I'll never have another party,' laughed Heather, gratefully taking the glass handed to her by Andrew. 'I'm absolutely drained!'
'No wonder; you've all worked like Trojans.' Andrew's eyes thanked her as he added, 'Shena will re-member this party all her life.'
'You men did your part,' admitted Beth with mock reluctance. 'I expect the success was a result of team- work.' 'Thank you,' said her husband acidly. 'I was beginning to wonder when our contribution would be recognized!' They went early the following morning, Andrew having invited them to come again in a few weeks for the grouse shooting. Harvey had reluctantly to decline, not only because he would be working, but also because he was not a very good shot. Roger, being his own boss, willingly accepted, his children plainly delighted when their father said they could have a few days off school so that they and their mother could come with him.
'You'll all come for Christmas?' Andrew said, noting the rather crestfallen faces of the other two children. Harvey nodded.
'We'd love to, Andrew, and thank you for inviting us.'
They all piled into the two cars and soon they were driving away, with Gail and Andrew, and the two children, standing on the forecourt, waving until the cars were lost to view down the mile-long avenue leading to the main road.
'I wonder why Mrs. Davis didn't come,' remarked Gail later when she and Andrew were chatting after lunch.
'I rang and asked her not to,' he returned abruptly, clearly leaving much unsaid.
But Gail knew he hadn't wanted anything to mar the holiday, and the presence of his mother-in-law would certainly have put a temporary damper on everyone's spirits. She looked at him, and with her deep understanding of how he felt she admired him for allowing his late wife's mother to visit her grandchildren when clearly her presence was an annoyance to him, for it was obvious that he did not like her. He would do his duty, whatever the cost, she decided, and wondered again if it had been merely a sense of duty which impelled him to take his wife back, forgiving her indiscretions. Everything fell a little flat after the visitors had gone, with Andrew resuming his work and Robbie and Shena seeming rather lost after having had four boisterous cousins for company.
'We've nothing to do,' sighed Robbie. 'I wish they could have stayed longer.'
'Can't we go on a picnic?' suggested Shena, hopefully looking up at Gail.
'Tomorrow, darling-'
'Why not today?'
'Because your grandmother's coming to see you. She telephoned me this morning to tell me.' To her dismay both children pouted and she added quickly, 'You like your grandmother to come and see you, I'm sure-and you must remember to be nice to her and show your pleasure at her visit.'
'Pleasure!' scoffed Robbie, kicking at the corner of the hearthrug. 'I don't like her!'
'Neither do I-' Shena's eyes suddenly sparkled. 'If you take us on a picnic we won't see her.'
Gail tilted her head admonishingly. 'I've just said, Shena, that your grandmother rang this morning to tell me she was coming. It would be very bad manners to be out, now wouldn't it?'
'Do you like her coming?' asked Robbie, looking at Gail with a strangely perceptive expression in his blue eyes. 'She comes to see you, not me,' was the instant rejoinder before Gail diplomatically changed the subject. 'If it's fine tomorrow we'll take the car and go for a long ride, then have our lunch in the woods. How will that suit you?' Both children brightened at that, but an hour later when Mrs. Davis drove up the pouts appeared again. 'I'm taking them home for tea,' said their grand-mother, refusing Gail's offer of refreshment. 'My husband wants to see them.'
'I don't want …'
'Run and wash your face and hands,' interrupted Gail hastily. 'Shena, come along, I'll help you. Robbie, do as you're told!'
'Do we have to go, Mummy?' wailed Shena as the sponge was applied to her face.
'Certainly you must go.' Gail's voice was firm, but inwardly she felt it was wrong to force the children into going with their grandmother. True, their grand-father would derive pleasure from their visit, but the children themselves would be miserable. It was not as if they were old enough to understand the position, or to realize that they must on occasions make sacrifices for the pleasure of others. 'You're too possessive with them,' snapped Mrs. Davis when on their return to her, washed and changed, she saw their glum faces. 'I must speak to Andrew. They never used to be like this.' 'It's nothing,' said Gail, anxious to smooth it over. 'They've had company for a fortnight and now they're feeling a little lost.'
'Your sisters' children, I believe.' The woman gave her a flickering glance of contempt. 'Was Andrew ashamed of his in-laws? Was that why he asked me to keep away?' Gail's eyes sparkled.
'Andrew doesn't consider himself superior to my family, Mrs. Davis!'
'Then he must have changed,' came the swift retort. 'He's always considered himself superior to everybody!'
"I'm not inclined to discuss either my husband or my family with you,' Gail told her icily. 'The children are ready whenever you are.'
She watched them, go, her blood boiling when at last she turned away from the window. She had meant to keep calm, ignoring the woman's insolent comments, but the more she thought of them the higher rose her temper. And it was unfortunate, to say the least, that Morag should happen to arrive at that particular time. She was in a car driven by a dowdy young man who, having watched Morag take her luggage from the car unaided, made a wide sweep on the forecourt and roared off down the drive. Gail watched the girl walk unsteadily into the house, carrying a suitcase and a smaller piece of hand luggage.
Was Morag drunk? A frow
n appeared on Gail's face, and she turned as the girl entered the room, having left her luggage in the hall.
'Hello,' laughed Morag a trifle hysterically. 'Where is everyone? Get me a drink, will you?'
'I get you a drink?' snapped Gail. 'It seems to me you've had enough already! And since when have you expected me to wait upon you?'
The girl moved unsteadily to a chair. 'My, but you're in a temper. Had a row with your husband, Mrs. MacNeill?' She put a hand to her head and Gail moved from the window, further into the room, utter disgust in her eyes. 'Don't, you think you'd better have some black coffee?' she suggested in icy tones. 'Shall I ring for some?' 'Black coffee-ugh ! No, Mrs. MacNeill, it's brandy I want-a stiff one!'
'You won't get brandy while I'm here!'
'Then for God's sake take yourself off, because it's brandy I need!' She tried to rise, her eyes on the bottle standing on the sideboard. Wrathfully Gail pushed her back in the chair.
'You'll have coffee or nothing!' and Gail picked up the brandy bottle and put it in the cupboard, locking the door and slipping the key into her pocket. 'Now, the best thing you can do is to go to bed and sleep it off-' She stopped, flushing as her husband came and stood in the open doorway. This was not her business, and she would never have interfered had she not been in such a temper over the comments made by Mrs. Davis about her family.
'What's wrong?' Andrew advanced into the room, his eyes on Morag, their expression, much to Gail's surprise, portraying anxiety rather than anger. 'Morag, are you ill?'
'Ill.... Gail's heart turned right over. Had she misjudged the girl? 'I'm not exactly in the pink of condition,' replied Morag, glaring balefully at her stepmother. 'She won't give me the brandy!'
'Is she ill?' asked Gail fearfully, noticing that Morag now had a hand to her heart.
'I didn't know-I thought-'
'Where is the brandy?' he demanded, glancing at the sideboard. Gail took the key from her pocket, aware of his sudden anger.
'I'm sorry ... I thought it was for the best. Shall I pour some out for her?' He was standing over Morag, his hand on her wrist.
'Yes-but not much. Then phone for the doctor.'
Gail handed him the glass, colouring under his gaze.
'Is it serious?' she faltered, contrition flooding over her. Why had she been so ready to condemn?-but she would not have done so had she not been in such a fury. Unreasonably Gail blamed Mrs. Davis for what had happened. 'Would-would it have made any difference if I'd given her the brandy right away?' Aware of her deep anxiety, he shook his head, al-though a trifle impatiently. 'Don't let it trouble you.' He was holding the glass to Morag's pallid lips; she seemed scarcely capable of swallowing, and suddenly began to cough. 'I asked you to phone the doctor.'
'Yes.' Gail sped away, her heart beating wildly. An-drew's face was so set and grave. Was Morag seriously ill? 'What happened?' inquired Andrew some time later after the doctor had been and Morag was in bed. 'Why did you put the brandy away?'
'I thought-thought she'd had Gail broke off, embarrassed, and her husband finished for her,
'-she'd had too much already, eh? Well, that's understandable, I suppose.'
'I feel awful. There really was no excuse. I should have made sure.' Her face was pale and anxious. 'Do you think it's as serious as the doctor says?'
'I don't think he'd exaggerate. Morag certainly has a heart disease and as he says, if the tablets don't prove effective she'll have to have an operation.'
Gail nodded, her eyes downcast. She felt over-whelmed with guilt at not having seen at once that Morag was ill. 'I feel awful,' she said again in some distress. 'I wasn't nice to Morag when she came in-in fact, I was so cross with her that I actually pushed her into the chair Oh, Andrew, do you think that would have done her any harm?'
They were standing by the window, where they could see the children playing on the swings, and Andrew turned to Gail, his grave set face breaking into a smile, a difficult smile, but one produced for the sole purpose of reassuring her. 'Gail dear,' he said softly, 'you mustn't blame your-self for anything.' And before she could speak he had placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. Gently he kissed her lips, his smile returning and deepening as on drawing away he watched the colour begin to fluctuate in her cheeks and a starry light momentarily enter her eyes before they shadowed again as her thoughts returned to Morag.
'We must be very kind to her, Andrew,' she murmured, and he nodded firmly. 'Yes, Gail, we must be very kind to her.' But despite her good resolutions Gail had the greatest difficulty in being kind to Morag, for even in her illness she was totally unresponsive and often there came back to Gail the words her husband had uttered about Morag's not being capable of feeling hurt because she was invulnerable to pain. She seemed to float in a vacuum of immunity to any form of emotion, staring always into space and ignoring any efforts at approach which Gail might make.
After a fortnight in bed she was allowed to get up. Andrew and Gail were relieved that the tablets were proving effective. But of course she must take care, the doctor had said, and it would seem her escapades were at an end, much to everyone's satisfaction except that of Morag herself who would sit and sulk and repeatedly declare life was not worth living. Her grandmother had been anxious and she too was obviously glad that Morag would not be running off again, leaving everyone wondering where she was.
The young man who brought her home had not even telephoned and when Andrew tactfully inquired about him Morag said he wasn't anyone important- just one of her boyfriends. 'Of all the friends she's supposed to have had, not one has inquired about her,' murmured Andrew sadly, adding, 'It's to be hoped she now knows their true worth.'
Robin asked about her, however, one day when he came to fish in the loch. 'Would you like to come in and speak to her?' invited Gail eagerly, thinking Morag would welcome a young man visitor. 'I don't know,' began Robin doubtfully. 'With all due respect, Gail, she isn't my type.'
'Does that matter? She's confined to the house, and it's dull for her. Do come and talk to her, Robin.'
'All right,' he agreed at length. 'I'll stay and have a chat with her.' Gail introduced them ... and little did she know what the repercussions of her action were going to be. For Morag had not changed and when Robin had gone she said to Gail, in the old sneering and insolent way,
'What's the game? Don't get any ideas that you can use me to further your own ends. Robin's your boy-friend, not mine, and I'll take good care Father's not deceived.'
Shocked, Gail could only stare for a while, unwilling to believe what she heard. 'Morag, how can you! I brought Robin in here in all good faith, believing his company would be a nice break for you. I'm not in the least interested in Robin, nor he in me.'
'How well you do it l ' Morag's sharp eyes gleamed with an almost evil light.
'It won't work, Mrs. Mac-Neill. How you came to put Father off the last time I don't know, because he was furious when I told him about you and Robin. But you won't get round him again; he's had too much experience. My mother was like you- unfaithful!' Sick with disgust and disappointment, Gail had nothing to say and Morag continued, amused by her expression, 'One has only to watch the way Robin looks at you to know what's going on.'
'The way-?' She stopped and a faint flush mounted her cheeks as she recalled Robin's saying it was just his luck that she was married-but at the time she had laughed, thinking nothing of it. Later, when he wanted to fish, she had experienced that strange uneasiness. And then had occurred that scene when Andrew furiously forbade her to speak to Robin again. The raising of his suspicions had all been Morag's doing, but her efforts to bring about a lasting rift had failed utterly-they had in fact brought Gail and her husband close together, a circumstance which must have puzzled Morag exceedingly. 'You're imagining things,' she said, but feebly. Morag laughed, and leant back on the couch, her head coining to rest against the cushions.
'Frightened? You'll be more than frightened when Father's suspicions become really aroused. You
've never seen the side of him that I have-but you will if you don't take care. If you really knew him you'd not have your boyfriend coming to the house After all, you've plenty of opportunity of seeing him outside, when Robbie and Shena are at school. I would, in your position.'
'You haven't changed a bit, have you?' said Gail disgustedly. 'Changed? Why should I change?'
'I thought your illness would have made you see sense-would have made you realize how harmful that sort of life was.'
'What sort of a life?' queried Morag interestedly.
'You used to boast that you could stay up all night, that you did in fact do so at these various parties you attended. And you drink and smoke too much. These things are harmful and that's why you're ill.'
'I'm not ill; I'm better.'
'You still have to take care. You're not better, Morag, you know that.' The younger girl's mouth tightened. 'I am better! And what's more I'm going away again soon. I rang up a friend yesterday and he wants me to join him and some others who are going on holiday.' Startled, Gail asked if Morag had informed her father of this, and when Morag shook her head Gail spoke quickly, before the other girl could do so. 'Then I shall enlighten him; it would be harmful if you were to go against the doctor's orders, and those orders are that you have complete rest.' A threatening gleam entered Morag's eyes. Raising her head from the cushions, she leant forward. 'You'll tell him to your cost!' Gail frowned.
'What do you mean by that, may I ask?'
'I mean,' returned Morag slowly and deliberately, 'that I also can do some enlightening-about you and Robin. Tell Father I'm going away and I shall tell him you brought Robin in today!' Pale, but determined, Gail reasserted her intention of warning Andrew of Morag's intentions.
'I shall tell him why I brought Robin in, and he'll believe me,' she ended, wondering at the sudden dryness in her mouth.
