'Oh, I know your name,' was her smiling rejoinder. 'Bryony has entrusted me with posting some letters to you—to Jamaica, so far as I remember. I don't usually notice whom a letter is addressed to——-'
Bryony noticed Peregrine's look of surprise, and remembered telling him—as was true at the time— that she had been out of touch with Hugh from the moment they had parted on board ship. She flushed a little, but before she could speak Hugh remarked good-humouredly: 'If you posted more than one for Bryony, I never received it.'
Solomon, coming in just then to announce dinner, broke the tension, but another awkward moment arrived in the middle of the meal. Aunt Isabel happened to remark to Yvonne that Bryony was a niece of Sir Carlingford Moore, going on to enquire whether she or Ronald had happened to meet any of that 'very fine' family—a query which met with a negative, and a reminder that England had a pretty large population.
Off his guard, Hugh shot Bryony a look which Laura—and only Laura—intercepted. But as Aunt Isabel continued talking about the Moore family and declaring that she had meant to ask Yvonne and Ronald about this ever since they had come—Bryony being so modest about her illustrious relatives—Laura favoured Bryony with an odd stare.
How many people noticed her rudeness, Bryony did not know, but she had the greatest difficulty in fighting down her indignation and embarrassment. It was quite impossible that Laura Forrest should know of her secret. Her reason told her that. She had probably meant to exhibit a certain surprise that Bryony should come of a distinguished family. She was quite spiteful enough for this. But she had disturbed her so much that she felt almost like hurling a dinner-plate at her.
Possibly because he felt there were undercurrents, Peregrine addressed himself directly to Laura, asking her—Solomon having left the scene for the moment— how Tina's daughter was shaping as cook.
'She's doing quite well, but she's always over here,' Laura told him brightly. Then, turning to Bryony, she went on, smiling sweetly: 'It's naughty of you, dear, to give Lucy so many of her meals. Poor Perry's housekeeping bills must be very high already, with Lucy's children eating their heads off.'
For once in a way Peregrine saw, it was clear, through Laura's attempt to belittle Bryony. He said, raising his eyebrows: 'So long as Lucy does her work for you properly, and keeps on the straight and level, it seems hardly necessary for you to bother where she eats. As for Bryony's housekeeping, she pleases us all mightily. We shall miss her badly when her year is up and she goes home.'
There was a chorus of agreement over this, but Anne-Marie said discontently: 'Why do you always harp on Bryony's leaving us? If I have anything to do with it she won't go back to England until I can go with her—to stay with Yvonne and Ronald, and attend art school in London.'
Peregrine rang the bell for Solomon to return.
'A lot can happen in that time,' he said—a remark which made Hugh look at him sharply.
After dinner Miss Fanier, regarding the occasion as worthy of some formality, took the ladies off to the drawing-room, leaving the men to continue drinking and exchanging stories. Conversation wasn't very easy with Laura there, for no one liked her, and if; was a relief when the men returned to reduce the awkward silences.
Both guests opted for leaving early, and Hugh, to Peregrine's evident relief, insisted on seeing Laura home.
Yvonne and Ronald, due to fly back to London next day, were also glad to turn in, and finally, Aunt Isabel and the girls having gone to bed, Bryony, tidying up the sitting-room a little, found herself alone with Peregrine.
'Well, my dear, I hope you've enjoyed your dinnerparty,' he observed, 'and that we made your young man feel at home.'
She nodded.
'On the whole it went off very well. But'—she bit her lip—'I do wish Mrs. Forrest wouldn't sling barbs at me!'
He smiled.
'Poor old Laura! It's hard for a woman who's been happily married, admired for her looks and intelligent conversation, to be brought into contact so often with a chic, pretty girl straight from England. Yvonne's been telling me what a "horrid" person she is—but I know better.'
Bryony gave him an incredulous glance, and he went on: 'She can be a bit waspish, I know. But at heart she's very kind. If she was happy and fulfilled, all these less pleasant characteristics of hers would disappear.'
'What did you think of Hugh?' Somehow she had to ask the question.
'He seems a pleasant fellow.' Peregrine's tone was guarded. 'Incidentally, he's coming up tomorrow to consult me about some small ailment—slight ear trouble. I said we would be glad to give him an evening meal, but he said he's too short of time. So he's having a drink here, after surgery.'
'He told me he'd be coming to say good-bye to me. He didn't say anything about consulting you professionally.'
'Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it. He may be the kind of chap that doesn't like letting his girlfriend know about such minor troubles. Anyway, I'll do the best I can for him.'
Civil as he was over Hugh, Bryony had the feeling that he did not really like him. So it was a comfort to her to find next morning that the rest of the family were warm in his praises. Aunt Isabel was still impressed with his good manners, the Gilberts thought he would be an asset to any party, to say the very least, and the girls declared that he was the best-looking man they had ever met—the nearest approach to their film-star hero of the moment.
And when evening came, and he arrived at the surgery, he made yet another conquest. He was a little early, but instead of falling in with May Wicker's suggestion and waiting up at the house, he preferred to wait where he was, and when he explained to the shy little dispenser that he represented a well-known firm of pharmaceutical chemists, and showed her his professional card, she was delighted to show him around—mentioning with pride some recent improvements which brought the premises of these three doctors who used them in line with the best equipment of the kind in the Caribbean.
He did not dilate on this when he said good-bye to Bryony. He was a little crestfallen on hearing from Peregrine that the discomfort in his ear was caused simply by some hard wax, easily dispersed. He had hoped, she sensed, to redeem his former derogatory remarks in regard to Peregrine by loud praises of his knowledge and skill. But he could hardly do that. He could only say that Dr. Gray was very quick and gentle with his syringe—a not exactly world-shaking tribute to a member of the medical profession!
She felt a little depressed when he went on his way. With him in Venezuela, and the Gilberts in England, life would be rather flat. But she certainly didn't expect the flow of sympathy which came from May Wicker when she ran into her next morning in the garden, after saying good-bye to Yvonne and Ron. May, it appeared, could guess exactly what she was feeling about parting with 'that terribly nice Mr. Woods'. He was so sweet, so courteous! So intelligent and knowledgeable, too. He had thought the new equipment marvellous—just as good as any he had seen in Harley Street. People in England, he had said, didn't realise the strides Trinidad was taking in catching up with far bigger countries.
'He was so kind, too, to Lucy and her children,' she added. 'He caught sight of them coming from Tina's place; talked to them nicely, and gave the little girls some small change for buying sweet drinks. That's the kind of thing that shows what a man is like, I always think.'
Bryony smiled back.
'I'm glad you approve of him,' she said. 'It's good when people take to one's friends.' And her heart lifted a little at the thought of his generosity. A small act—but the kind that counted.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Life flowed quietly for the next few weeks. The girls seemed to have settled down reasonably well at school, and both were attending evening classes on two nights a week, Anne-Marie going ahead with drawing and painting, and Sally plodding away at commercial subjects. What with driving them in and out of the city, Bryony felt sometimes as though she was a private chauffeuse; and she also had to give a certain amount of time to taking Aunt Isabel around.
She had tried har
d to wean the old lady from Polydore's establishment, but without success. No one, Miss Fanier declared, could do her hair like that bearded Greek. However, she managed to avoid embarrassing encounters with Senora Blavona and Leoni by arranging in the most matter-of-fact way possible to drop Miss Fanier at the door, and pick her up an hour later—waiting for her in the car, if necessary, until she appeared.
Every week or so brought a brief, affectionate, letter from Hugh, but he was moving around so much she could seldom be sure of getting a reply across to him. He had left Venezuela after a month or so for Brazil, and would probably go on to Argentina; his firm were anxious to increase their exports to South America.
They seemed pleased with his efforts, he said; but goodness knew, alas, when he would be seeing her again.
She was glad that it fell to her, as a rule, to collect the mail for the household at the General Post Office in Port-of-Spain. She shrank from comment on her correspondence with Hugh, the more because she still felt uncertain of her feelings for him. One moment longing to be with him, the next, a little afraid.
It was for this reason that she made no mention of him in her letters home. And her mother, who would have loved to hear of a developing romance for this cherished adopted daughter of hers, felt depressed about her at times. She was so pretty, so attractive, but since that day of her twenty-first birthday, when she had learned that she was an adopted child, she had changed—gone, so to speak, into her shell. It would have to be a very determined admirer to coax her out of it.
Although Bryony had plenty to do, there was no lack of opportunity for recreation. Elaborate parties were few in Lent, but there were homely picnics galore. And under Peregrine's patient tuition she gradually became a first-rate swimmer, revelling in the smooth, tepid waters of the Caribbean sea, or in the Atlantic breakers on the east coast. Liking his company, too.
The O'Dane family often joined them, and sometimes Dr. Leonard, Peregrine's other partner, came along with his pleasant but languid wife and elderly uncle—a former beau of Aunt Isabel, and still her respectful admirer.
But to the relief of some at least of the picnickers, Mrs. Forrest seldom made one of the party. She preferred, taking advantage of Lucy's skill, to entertain Peregrine and one or two congenial couples to special little dinners, or better still to find occasions for offering him tete-a-tete hospitality.
One evening, when he was over at her house, Anne- Marie, her elbows on the dinner-table, voiced Bryony's own wonderment when she demanded of her great- aunt an explanation of Perry's liking for Laura's company. She herself found her both boring and spiteful.
Miss Fanier looked across at her pensively.
'Probably she isn't spiteful when there's no one around to annoy her, as you three girls obviously do. Besides, she sets herself out, I imagine, to create a restful atmosphere for Perry—and you can't say he always gets that here.'
Anne-Marie and Sally laughed a trifle self-consciously at this—squabbles between them, even at meal-times, not being altogether unknown. But Anne- Marie asserted: 'She's setting out to get him as a husband, and if she does, heaven help the silly fellow—and the rest of us, too!'
With the approach of Easter there was a stirring of activity—and a decided lessening of peace in the Gray household.
Bernard Glynn, Sally's one-time boy-friend who had been so firmly discouraged by Perry, bobbed up again with a formal invitation to the girls, through his parents, to his seventeenth birthday party. It was to be held in the ballroom of one of the smaller hotels in Port-of-Spain—from eight p.m. until midnight—and his mother would be there to act as chaperone.
The early hours and the fact that an older woman would be there filled the girls with hope that Peregrine would lift his ban. But he was quietly adamant until news came through that the two elder O'Dane boys, David and Ken, were to attend the dance. If they would guarantee to take good care of the girls, he said, he would raise no further objection, and, highly delighted, they began to plan their party dresses.
And then things began to happen which worried Bryony. First of all Anne-Marie went down with tonsillitis—a severe attack that eliminated any chance of her going to the dance. Next, in the goodness of her heart, Aunt Isabel arranged to take Sally to have a first-class hair-do at Polydore's.
Had the Greek had no connection with Hugh she would have like to say to Miss Fanier, 'There's something fishy about that firm. Even if you go there, I don't think Sally should.' But if she had done so Miss Fanier would probably have laughed at her for cherishing nonsensical notions about a perfectly respectable little establishment—notions backed by no shadow of proof.
All she could think of by way of protecting Sally from undesirable influences was to arrange to have her own hair washed and set at the same time. It was silly of her to fuss, she supposed. But by doing so she was following a very strong instinct, an instinct which said quite simply, as though painted in large black letters on a white board, the one word: Danger.
She was glad afterwards that she had taken this seemingly foolish precaution. The Venezuelan woman, seated at her desk just outside the hair- dressing salon, gave no sign whatever of having met her before, treating her with the formal politeness due to a strange client. But both she and Polydore tumbled over themselves to make a fuss of Aunt Isabel and young Sally. Nothing was too much trouble for them.
Relegated to a quietly competent assistant, Bryony was ready before the others, but continued to sit in the salon, having no mind to find herself in the little lobby, in Senora Blavona's company.
So far so good.
And when the three of them eventually, their bills paid, went down the passage into the boutique and made their way towards the street door, she gave a little sigh of relief. Her silly fears had after all been groundless.
But she had rejoiced too soon. Sally's eye was caught by a smart and pretty get-up for evening in emerald green sewn with sequins, and she fairly dragged her great-aunt back to have a look at it.
At once Leoni appeared, all smiles and charming persuasiveness, and there followed a session in which he encouraged Sally to turn the place upside down in search of the dress that would make her shine at the party. The emerald green was not for her, he insisted. The style was too mature—'more suitable for your friend'—and he smiled in a conniving way at the embarrassed Bryony, who longed to whisk the girl away to one of the big shops in the neighbourhood.
Unfortunately Aunt Isabel, with her penchant for charming and good-looking young men, found his attentions to her young niece most gratifying. She was in no hurry to give up the hunt for the one and only dress which Sally ought to wear, nor was she unduly perturbed over the question of price. Poor little Sally, she murmured to Bryony, had had rather a thin time lately, with all the limelight going to Anne-Marie and her drawings. It was time she had a fuss made of her.
At last a wispy affair of white chiffon, embroidered with silver, won the day. Regrettably, Leoni said, his dark eyes soulful, there were no dressing-rooms or even cubicles for trying on frocks, but if the little lady found, when she got home, that it did not fit, she was welcome to bring it back—and continue the search for the perfect dress. He was expecting a fresh consignment from Europe at the end of the week, by the French Line; there were certain to be some exciting and original models.
Sally, almost dancing out of the shop with her precious purchase, was full of praise for Leoni—remarking to Bryony that he reminded her a little of Hugh Woods, with his dark good looks and lovely manners.
'I see very little resemblance myself,' was Bryony's rather stiff reply, but this personal annoyance gave way to a more intense irritation, tinged with anxiety, when Sally went on: 'I agree with Aunt Isabel that this place is a find. I shall get my hair done here regularly. It's no more expensive than anywhere else. What's more, I shall buy some new play-clothes from Leoni, when I get my next allowance.'
Fortunately the white chiffon frock fitted Sally perfectly, and even Peregrine, when she dressed up
specially to 'model' it for him, thought it attractive— though adding a shade dubiously that there didn't seem to be much of it.
All this meant that for the time there would be no further expeditions to Polydore's, and for this small respite Bryony felt duly grateful. She couldn't bear the place, and hated Hugh's being mixed up with the people who ran it: felt sure that he didn't realise the harm it might do him, getting involved with them. And she was really scared at the idea of Sally and Anne-Marie making a habit of visiting the premises. Because that was what was likely to happen later on.
If only she could talk to Peregrine about it! But how could she, when there was Hugh regarding them almost as friends? In any case, what grounds had she for her suspicions and fears?
Nothing but instinct. And nobody—not Aunt Isabel, not Peregrine, not Hugh—was likely to be impressed by that.
Bernard's parents did still more to ingratiate themselves with Peregrine over the matter of their son's party. They sent him a polite little note, saying that if he and any other grown-up members of his household would care to look in and see the young people enjoying themselves, they would be most welcome.
Peregrine, who happened to be alone with Aunt Isabel and Bryony when this note was brought in, glanced up from reading it with a wryly amused expression.
'Gosh, how old that makes me feel! Like a venerable parent, instead of an elder brother. What about it, Aunt Isabel? Shall you and I dress up and make a stately appearance at this Bernard fellow's birthday party?'
Miss Fanier laughed.
'We'd make a highly ridiculous pair, you and I—with forty years' difference between us. But I think it would be kind to treat this gesture in a nice way, as Sally is to be one of their guests. Take Bryony with you. You need only stay a few minutes.'
He looked across at Bryony, busy mending a lacy dressing-jacket for Anne-Marie, who was still confined to bed,
'What about it, Bryony? Would it be a frightful bore for you?'
She hesitated. 'It's not that. But to dress up and go all the way to Port-of-Spain just for a lightning glimpse of these boys and girls——- '
Juliet Armstrong - Isle of the Hummingbird Page 11
