Next morning being Saturday, and a holiday, Sally was able to indulge in a late morning. Bryony took her some coffee and fruit from the family breakfast table, and asked her how she had enjoyed herself, to receive the drowsy reply: 'In spots—very much. But I've really outgrown boys like David and Ken—and even Bernard. It would suit me better now to go to more adult affairs.'
'I suppose you let the poor chaps see that.' Bryony hovered by the bed for a moment. 'I thought the O'Danes seemed a bit browned off with you.'
'Did they?' Sally's tone was nonchalant. She seemed to be giving all her attention to her grapefruit. 'I'm afraid I was too sleepy to notice. Anyway, they'll get over it.'
She was still in her underclothes—had slept in them—but Bryony made no comment. She wasn't quite happy about Sally, but really had no ground for complaint. She hadn't been all that late coming home—had turned up in the company of the two boys who had been asked to bring her back. There was nothing to scold her about. So she shrugged her shoulders and got out the smaller car, with a view to doing the final week-end shopping in Port-of-Spain. She sympathised with Sally over staying in bed, because she was feeling very sleepy herself—though late mornings in the tropics, when one could only bear a sheet to cover one, had nothing cosy about them, as in England.
She was just starting up the car—having made sure that neither Aunt Isabel nor Anne-Marie wanted to come in with her—when Peregrine hailed her.
'Leonard is taking my surgery this morning,' he told her. 'I have to go to the hospital this morning for a consultation. I can run you in if you aren't in a great hurry to get back.' And he added: 'I could pick you up in an hour and a half, if that would suit.'
'Fine!' She ran the Fiat into a patch of shade, and a minute or two later was getting into the Mercedes, beside Peregrine.
'What about that bracelet? I might be able to see about the insurance this morning.'
'Oh, don't let's bother now.'
'No bother! Off you go and fetch it. I shouldn't be surprised if you've got something very valuable there. Madness not to insure it.'
She ran into the house and came back with it. Good of him to worry about it, she supposed. But she was pretty sure, on reflection, that he was wrong about the value he put on it. Hugh was no simpleton. If he said it was a cheap number, then a cheap number it probably was.
He dropped her at the excellent Chinese store where she did much of her marketing—a shop clean as a new pin, and full of delicious and exotic food. Then she went on to an establishment run by Indians, famous for its fruit, and lastly to a place belonging to coloured folk, where fresh-caught fish was always available.
She parked her purchases at the Chinese store. The proprietress, whose daughters were also at school at St. Monica's, had become quite a friend of hers; and the shop was so situated that it would be an easy matter for Peregrine to pick her up there, as arranged.
'I'm going across the road for a sundae,' she told Mrs. Chang Li cheerily, but the Chinese lady did not for once smile back at her. She said quietly: 'Miss Moore, my girls were at Bernard Glynn's birthday dance last night. They are in a senior class to your Sally, and more friendly with Anne-Marie. They think she is a little foolish, that Sally, and would be better not going to dances and parties unless Anne-Marie can be with her.'
'Did they say anything special?' Bryony asked her anxiously.
'No, no! Foolish, they said. That's all.'
And she bustled away to her glass-fronted cubicle, where she reigned in state over her white-clad assistants.
Wondering a little gloomily now what Sally could have been up to, Bryony made her way to the restaurant attached to the big shop in Frederick Street, where people gathered for mid-morning refreshment, and ran straight into Mrs. O'Dane, sitting alone at a small table.
Puzzled as she was over Sally, she was not particularly anxious to discuss her with Mrs. O'Dane, or with anyone else. But she could not ignore that friendly wave, so she went across and sat down. To her surprise and relief, Mrs. O'Dane seemed unaware of anything having gone amiss at the party. She and her husband had been in bed and asleep when the boys came in, and this morning they had merely told her, in answer to questions, that it had been quite a good party, with a decent band and an excellent supper.
Whatever Sally had done to annoy them, Bryony thought, could not have been very serious or they would surely have said something to their parents. Or would they? Teenagers who chattered like monkeys among themselves could hide from older people behind a wall of silence. They had, too, a strong sense of loyalty to each other.
Anyway, she wasn't going to worry.
A delicious sundae, and a pleasant chat with Mrs. O'Dane over nothing particular, and she remembered that she had not yet picked up the mail.
At the post office she found a few letters and circulars for Peregrine, a letter for Anne-Marie with Canadian stamps and postmark, and a highly coloured postcard for herself from Rio, with the brief message: Thinking of you always. H.
Glad as she was to hear from Hugh, she wished a trifle irritably that he wouldn't send her picture postcards. She preferred a certain privacy in her correspondence with him, and even let the notion cross her mind that he might have bought a sheaf of postcards, and shot them off to his various girl-friends.
But when, a little later, Peregrine picked her up from outside the Chinese store, she felt ashamed of her mistrust of him. For Peregrine told her that he had made time to have the bracelet valued for insurance and that it was worth a hundred and twenty pounds: that his friend in the insurance office had laughed at the notion that it was anything but eighteen-carat gold.
'I think your Mr. Woods has been pulling wool over your eyes,' he said drily. 'He knew you would have refused to accept costly jewellery from him, so he made out that it had very little value. You can't exactly blame him.'
She bit her lips, said at last: 'I can't send it back. I don't know where he is—"Rio" being hardly an address. But I'll have a straight talk with him the next time I see him.'
'My dear, if a man is in love with a girl, he naturally wants to give her the very best of everything. You wouldn't like jewellery from a ten-cent store, now would you? Especially if he pretended it came from Carrier!'
'I suppose that would be even worse,' she conceded. 'But I don't appreciate being tricked, and I'm not standing for it 1'
'I bet you'll scare him stiff if you use that ice-cold voice to him.' Peregrine sounded faintly amused. 'And do you know what? I bet, too, that your eyes aren't matching that lovely line of your cheek at this precise minute—those sweeping lashes. They're hard as flints —the way they were when I first met you in London, the way they haven't been for a long time.'
She crimsoned, angry with Hugh, angry with him.
'There's another thing I don't appreciate,' she snapped. 'And that's personal remarks!'
There was silence between them for the rest of the drive, but when they reached home, and she took Anne-Marie's letter in to her, she soon forgot to be annoyed. Christopher wrote jubilantly that the exhibition of work by young artists was in full swing, and that Anne-Marie's sketch of Bryony had been hung in an excellent position—at eye-level, and in a very good light. It hadn't won a prize, unfortunately, but she needn't feel too bad over that as the standard, which included several other entries from the Caribbean, was very high. But it had gained a Highly Commended, and was to be included in a supplement which the magazine sponsoring the exhibition was shortly bringing out, with very considerable publicity.
'So a reproduction of your work will be going places,' he ended jubilantly. 'And Bryony mustn't be surprised if she gets offers to go on the films. Several people have commented on her utterly delightful profile—and I've told them that the front view is just as good—or very nearly!'
The jubilation which greeted Christopher's news was reminiscent of Carnival. Anne-Marie, forgetting that she was still convalescent after her fierce bout of tonsillitis, threw her arms round Bryony, declaring that it
was all due to her, this wonderful happening, and Aunt Isabel and Peregrine, coming in to see the cause of the excitement, had to be hugged too. Then it was the turn of Tina and the skinny little grandchildren.
Only Sally showed no signs of exhilaration. She came drifting along, still yawning, and when she had finished reading Christopher's letter, remarked flatly: If it's as good as all that I should have thought you'd have made some money out of it. By the look of it you won't get a dollar.'
Hurt, Anne-Marie looked at her sister almost unbelievingly. And Peregrine said sharply: 'All this publicity will give Anne-Marie a good chance to sell it—if she wants to. My own guess is that she'll keep it, so we'll have something to remember Bryony by, when she leaves us.'
'He's always talking about my going away,' Bryony thought, with a little feeling of hurt. And then something happened to switch her thoughts in another direction.
Sally, exclaiming wildly: 'I'm a beast, I know I' burst into tears and fled from the room.
After a moment's dismayed silence everyone tried to behave as though nothing had happened. And this common-sense attitude bore fruit. When lunch was served Sally came in pale but composed, and before the end of the meal was very nearly her usual self.
That night, at bedtime, she pulled Bryony into her room and told her that she wanted to speak to her for a minute.
'Now,' Bryony thought, 'I'm going to hear what really happened last night.'
But Sally didn't even refer to the party.
She said impetuously, sitting beside Bryony on the narrow white bed:
'I hate myself for being so jealous of Anne-Marie. I used not to be like that. I don't know what's the matter with me.'
Bryony drew her close, thinking suddenly of the way she had treated her adoptive mother on the night of her twenty-first birthday. No jealousy there. But she felt horribly ashamed now of her behaviour, and meant to make amends, in the future, some way or other.
'Not liking one's less agreeable traits is more than one step towards getting rid of them,' she told her comfortingly. 'Besides, these rather bothersome emotions are part of the business of growing up.'
Sally considered. Then she said reflectively: 'Anne- Marie is much more placid than she used to be, and doesn't send Perry up the wall any more. In fact, they get on quite well. I don't seem to hit it off with either of them now.'
'That's only a temporary phase. Don't worry about it. And remember that it's easier for Anne-Marie, now people are beginning to recognise her gift. Painting is much more important to her, all of a sudden, than hitting the high spots in a way that turns poor Perry's hair grey.'
'I don't seem to have any talents at all,' Sally sighed.
'My dear, you don't know what you may develop as time goes on. Anyway, you may have a thoroughly successful and happy life without ever getting the smallest ray of limelight.'
'I suppose so! Anyway, I can see the danger of getting jealous. I might turn into a Laura Forrest.'
Bryony kissed her.
'Never,' she said stoutly. 'It's far more likely that Laura will sweeten as the years go by.'
'You mean if she marries Perry? I don't agree. I think she'll sour him—when he opens his silly eyes and sees what she's really like.'
There was a cough at the door-curtains then, and Solomon's soft, deep voice: 'Mis' Bryony, Mis' Fanier wantin' you. She say Patience card missin' an', Mis' Bryony, I lookin' jus' everywhere.'
'I'll come.' And with a final good-night to Sally, Bryony went along to the drawing-room where Miss Fanier was pacing about, looking positively miserable.
'It's the Ace of Hearts missing. I like to leave the pack nicely shuffled last thing, ready for me to start playing tomorrow.'
It wasn't the first time that Aunt Isabel had presented her with this particular problem. She took up the miniature pack, went through it quickly and put the missing card down on the table.
'There you are, Miss Fanier. It was hiding, that's all.'
'Old and stupid, that's what's the matter with me! But thank you, my dear—I don't know what we'd do without you.'
Another good-night kiss and Bryony went to her room, reflecting that this post in the Gray household had complexities that she hadn't at first anticipated, but that it was bringing her a great deal of unexpected happiness, too.
Thing went pretty smoothly after this. Miss Fanier continued to get her hair done at Polydore's, but Sally, declaring that she was saving up for a new record-player, economised by washing and setting her dark curls at home. She said no more, either, about buying new play-clothes at that particular boutique.
Both girls got good reports from their school, and Perry told Bryony that there had not been such peace in the house since Yvonne left to get married.
'I can't tell you how pleased I am,' was her quick response. And she reflected that there was only one thing wrong with her life at present. Hugh still wrote to her fairly regularly—always in the most loving terms. But it was clear from them that she must not expect to see him again for several months.
This in itself was disappointing. She was fond of him, and it was very pleasant to be made a fuss of, to see his dark eyes light up at the sight of her, to hear the caressing note in his very attractive voice.
But there was another factor which troubled her. She could never be sure that the letters she sent him in reply to his would ever reach him. He gave her poste restante addresses, but clearly she did not always catch up with him in time, for when next she heard from him he would be writing from another town, or even another country, and made no reference to having received a letter from her. It fretted her particularly that he made no comment on her news that the bracelet he had given her had turned out to be valuable. She had taken care to write a tactful letter, explaining as nicely as possible why she must return it to him—and for all she knew, this letter was lying in a post office in Rio, never, perhaps, to be collected, unless his work brought him to that city again.
She was tempted to confide this worry to Perry, but thought better of it. Either Hugh had received the letter and decided not to refer to it; or he had missed it. She might as well wait until he returned to Trinidad. Perry was too busy to be bothered about such things.
Perry, though cheerful, was indeed very preoccupied at this time, and when the household learned the reason for it over the dinner-table one night, they were considerably startled.
He was being sent by the Government on a mission to the United States, and would be away at least a month. He had been pleased and surprised at being chosen, for he had been over in England only a few months previously. But he had been warned that it would be extremely tiring, as he would be flying from coast to coast, visiting several big cities en route.
He wouldn't be alone. Jamaica and Barbados were sending doctors, too, and he understood they were bringing their wives—not to go dashing round all the time with them, but to visit friends over there.
'Not having a wife, I thought I might take you with me.' He looked across the table at Anne-Marie. 'We've none of us seen much of our mother's side of the family, but the grandparents would love to have you on a visit. I wrote to them when I first knew that this trip was in the offing, and they replied that they'd be delighted—and that Sally must come next year.'
Sally behaved then in a way which made Bryony feel very proud of her. She said, with an obvious effort: 'That ought to help you with your painting, Anne-Marie.'
Anne-Marie nodded, cheeks flushed, eyes dancing.
'I know. They're well in with artistic circles in New York. I'm bound to learn a lot.' And she added impulsively: 'I do wish you were coming too, Sal.'
'I did suggest it,' Perry said. 'But they'd rather have you turn and turn about. Anyway, Sally, you'll have something to look forward to.'
'But you aren't likely to be going on another Government mission next year,' Sally pointed out, trying hard to be philosophical.
'No. But I'll tell you what. Christopher will be coming over next year for his vacatio
n. He can fly back via the United States, dropping in on the grandparents with you, and leaving you there for a month. How's that?'
'Grand! If they're still alive by then. They must be pretty old by now.'
'Nonsense, Sally.' Aunt Isabel was bridling. 'They're at least five years younger than me. And if you think that's having one foot in the grave, I most definitely don't!'
Time flew after this. Anne-Marie, putting her painting paraphernalia away—for she had been told she I could borrow all she wanted in New York—set about her preparations for this exciting visit. And to Bryony's vexation the boutique she so disliked came into the picture again, with the girls going there on their own to shop, encouraged by their very generous great-aunt. However, there was nothing she could do without saying more than was wise—neither of the girls would hear of patronising any of the excellent, old-established shops in Port-of-Spain—nor the newer ones, either. This particular little boutique—Polydore's—was the only one which suited them.
It was partly, of course, that Leoni took so much trouble, and was so clever at picking out just the right clothes.
'I've never known anyone so good at his job,' Anne- Marie told Bryony, as she packed two extremely pretty dresses in her large, light-weight suitcase. 'All the same, Bryony, I don't think Sally should be too oncoming with him. Perry used to fuss about our seeing too much of Frank and Bernard. But they're babes compared with Leoni. She'd much better keep things on a strictly business footing, as I do. And so I've told her.'
Bryony helped her fold a third frock.
'If I had my way she wouldn't go near that shop again, ever,' she said firmly.
But Anne-Marie wouldn't go so far as that.
'She just needs to behave with a bit of sense,' she declared. 'Realise that Leoni isn't faintly interested in sweet looks, but very interested indeed in raking in the dollars.'
Bryony suppressed a sigh. She came very near wishing that Leoni and Senora Blavona—and Polydore, too—were at the bottom of the deep blue sea.
Juliet Armstrong - Isle of the Hummingbird Page 13
