Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger

by Rachel Lindsay

  ' Yes.'

  ' And you didn't jump at the offer? Lucy Granger, you must be crazy.' Meg's voice died away and she collapsed on a chair. ' Honestly 1 Most girls would have given their eye teeth for such a chance. You can't turn it down. I won't let you.'

  ' I haven't .turned it down yet,' Lucy said, ' but I'm too tired to think about it at the moment.'

  Meg looked guilty. ' What a fool I am! Here am I getting on about another job when all you should be doing for the next couple of months is resting.' She stood up. ' And that reminds me, I promised Sister I'd only stay a little while. Go to sleep now, I'll be in to see you again tomorrow.'

  Slowly the days passed and Lucy made a steady recovery. Within a few days she was well enough to receive other visitors, and the first one was Cindy Harlow.

  ' Oh, Lucy,' she cried, rushing into the room on a wave of perfume and cascading the latest best-seller, a carton of hot-house grapes, half a dozen bunches of freesia and a giant bottle of Mitsouko on to the blanket, 'I'm so glad to see you. I can't tell you the agonies I've suffered. And it was all my fault.'

  ' It was an accident,' Lucy interrupted, and gathering up the lowers, buried her nose in the scented petals. What a gorgeous smell! They're my favourite.'

  ' I'll send you more,' came the immediate response, and Lucy, looking at the lovely, vital face in front of her, knew that Cindy Harlow, like her brother, believed money could buy everything.

  ' Sit down and talk to me,' Lucy said gently. ' Did you have a nice Christmas?'

  ' Not very. Paul blamed me for your accident and it rather put a blight on things.'

  ' But it wasn't your fault. You didn't set fire to yourself deliberately!'

  ' That's what I told him,' Cindy admitted, ' and he gave me some long speech about Freud and people willing things to happen. By the time he'd finished I almost felt I'd arranged the whole thing.'

  Your brother had no right to blame you,' Lucy said, and then closed her mouth. It was wrong to talk about a man when he "was being put to so much expense on her behalf.

  ' Let's forget about the party and the accident,' she said diplomatically, ' and pretend we've just met.'

  ' I'm not likely to meet you in the ordinary course of events,' Cindy said with a candour which Lucy had come to expect of her. ' Paul treats me as if I were a valuable glass object likely to break at the least touch. Do you know I'm hardly allowed out without a chaperon?'

  ' If I had a sister as pretty as you I'd probably chaperon you myself,' Lucy said drily.

  ' What about you?' Cindy asked.

  'Me?'

  ' Yes, you. You don't have a chaperon and you're far better looking than I am. I'm cute and attractive,' Cindy giggled, ' but you're beautiful—even with that Jousy hairstyle.'

  Lucy put up a bandaged hand to her hair. It was the first time she had given a thought to it.

  ' Has it been burned?' she asked fearfully.

  ' Of course not. But your nurse has tied it into a plait. Here, let me undo it for you.'

  She fetched Lucy's brush and comb from the dressing- table, undid the silky hair and began to brush it. Lucy found the rhythmical strokes soothing and she closed her eyes and relaxed. Words trembled on her lips and though she realized they were unwise, she was unable to restrain them.

  ' I think it's wrong of your brother to treat you as a child.'

  ' I wish you'd tell him that. He's abroad at the moment, but if you could speak to him when he comes back, he might listen to you. You're a heroine in his eyes.'

  Lucy could not help smiling at Cindy's ingenuousness. She could just visualize Paul Harlow's attitude if one of his most junior employees had the temerity to interfere in his business affairs, let alone his personal ones.

  ' I think it might be better for my own safety if I stay out of the situation,' she said.

  ' I suppose you're right,' Cindy sighed. I envy you being independent and able to lead your own life.'

  ' Then you're childish. It isn't pleasant to be alone in the world.'

  ' I'm sorry.' Cindy's face was gentle. ' I know about your father's death. Your friend told me.' She changed the brush from one hand to the other. ' I hardly knew my father. Business was his life just as it's Paul's, and he never had time for me. My mother died when I was five and I was brought up by a succession of nurses. Materially I had everything in the world I wanted, except the love of the people I wanted. And it's exactly the same today.' She dropped the brush on to the bed and, picking up the comb, parted Lucy's hair and arranged it so that it fell in its natural waves either side of her face. ' I wish I could change places with you. You can do what you like, go where you like and marry whom you like without anyone to crack the whip over you.'

  Lucy glanced up, thinking this to be yet another emotional outburst, yet the piquant face in front of her held more emotion than she had thought possible and the large brown eyes were luminous with tears.

  ' Are things really so bad for you?' she asked quietly.

  ' You've no idea. Paul loves me—I know that—but he can't understand I've grown up. He treats me like a child and I can't do anything without getting his per mission first.' Cindy blinked rapidly and essayed a watery smile. ' I'm sorry about this. I came here to cheer you up and here I am weeping on your shoulder. You're too sympathetic.'

  Recovered now, she replaced the comb and brush on the dressing-table and perched on the arm of the easy chair.

  ' Now you look human,' she said frankly, her tone as bright and easy as if a moment ago she had not been displaying her innermost thoughts. ' I can see exactly what Barry means about your Pre-Raphaelite appearance.'

  Lucy flushed, embarrassed to know the photographer had been discussing her. ' Mr Davis seems given to extravagances.'

  ' Not when it comes to women. He's always careful what he says about them or to them 1 Are you going to work for him? I should think it would be much more fun than being stuck in an office helping to increase my brother's filthy lucre.'

  ' You share the filthy lucre too, infant, don't forget that!'

  Both girls turned startled faces to the door as Barry Davis strolled through, casual in sweater and slacks, a bunch of lilies in his arms. Extracting a single flower, he presented it to Lucy with a bow.

  ' A lily for the silver-haired madonna.'

  She smiled. ' You've got me typed, haven't you?'

  ' Don't you like the comparison?'

  'A little too ethereal, maybe.'

  ' Next time I'll buy you passion-flowers.'

  ' Oops,' Cindy said. ' This is where I'd better take my leave. I can see I'm going to be de trop.'

  ' Don't be silly,' Lucy said quickly, annoyed to find herself blushing.

  ' I'm only joking,' Cindy grinned. ' I must leave anyway.'

  ' That's the first time I've known Cindy display any tact,' Barry Davis said as the door closed behind her. ' She knew very well I wanted to be alone with you.'

  ' You hardly know me,' Lucy protested.

  ' All the more reason for me to start.'

  His gaze was intent and she was suddenly conscious of her woollen nightgown and of her face devoid of make-up.

  ' You look wonderful,' he said, divining her thoughts. " And don't be embarrassed at the way I'm looking at you. Just treat me as a patient would a doctor.'

  She could not help laughing, and as she did so her embarrassment disappeared.

  ' That's better,' he said, and took out a packet of cigarettes. ' Mind if I smoke?' At her nod he lit one and blew out a smoke ring, still not taking his eyes off her. ' Paul thinks you're the bravest girl he's ever met.'

  The unexpectedness of the statement took her aback and her colour rose again.

  ' I wish people would stop trying to make me into some sort of heroine.'

  ' But you are. Your action would have been important no matter whom you saved, but the fact that it was Cindy…' He leaned forward. ' It would have broken Paul if any harm had come to her.'

  'Is that true?'

  '
What makes you doubt it?'

  ' Only that—only that Cindy seems to regard him as a tyrant.'

  ' She's been spoilt and resents any form of authority,' Barry replied. ' She's also got the intelligence of a bat and Paul lives in a constant state of anxiety wondering what she's going to do next. Girls with such large fortunes attract a great many undesirables and Cindy's never shown any discrimination in her choice of friends.' He made a wry face. ' Paul says that if she were introduced to the Devil she'd find a kind word to say for him as long as he was a good dancer and kept her amused.'

  ' She's ingenuous,' Lucy protested. ' A man as cold and withdrawn as Mr Harlow can't be expected to understand a warm-hearted person like Cindy.'

  ' You seem to have very set ideas of what Paul's like.' Barry's tone was quizzical. ' I can assure you he's no kill-joy. In his own way he's as warm-hearted and kind as his sister.'

  ' He's certainly been kind to me,' Lucy said in a low voice, paying lip service to the luxurious room and the flowers and fruit that continued to arrive from him daily. She had never asked to be made the recipient of his charity and the fact that it was so impersonal made her resent it even more. It was bad enough to take things from someone one hardly knew, but when that same person did not even bother to pay her a visit, it made his generosity even more disagreeable to accept. She knew from Cindy that he had gone abroad on business, but she was certain he was home again and could not help feeling that he should have found the time to pay her a brief visit. Still, she had no intention of letting Barry Davis know she was piqued with Paul Harlow's behaviour.

  Interpreting her silence as fatigue, Barry made a move to leave, but Lucy, bored with her own company, stretched out her hand to detain him.

  ' Don't go yet. Stay and talk to me, unless you've work to do?'

  ' You're my work, Miss Granger. When you take the job I offered you, I'll double your present salary and turn you into the most famous face in Britain—America, too, with any luck.'

  Uncomfortable at being under pressure, she said quickly: ' Let me think about it. I can't very well leave my job so soon—not after all Mr Harlow's done for me.'

  ' My beautiful madonna! You surely don't think Paul gives a damn what you do? Why, in the business sense he probably doesn't even know you exist.'

  Barry's statement, though true, was none the less a well-deserved blow for her ego, she thought wryly. She had been thinking too highly of herself since the fire, due no doubt to Paul Harlow's generosity. That man again I

  ' Can we talk about your offer in a few months' time?' she asked quickly.

  ' Certainly. Although I'm trying to rush you, I don't want you to think I am 1'

  Letting the matter drop, he steered the conversation into other channels, wittily recounting a host of unmalicious stories about celebrities whose names she knew only from newspapers and magazines. Time flew by and she was amazed when a nurse came in with a tea-tray.

  Barry seemed surprised too at how quickly the afternoon had gone, and exclaiming that he had a five o'clock appointment, he rushed to the door, colliding with Meg, who was just coming in. She was thrown hard against the lintel and gave an exclamation of pain.

  ' I am sorry!' Barry said, and caught her shoulders to steady her. ' I hope I haven't hurt you.'

  ' I'll live,' Meg said briefly. ' Just tell me where's the fire?'

  ' On my own head if I'm not at the Houses of Parliament in the next ten minutes. I'm not an M.P.,' he grinned, seeing Meg look at his casual dress. ' I'm just going to photograph one.'

  He loped off and Meg unbuttoned her coat and sat down in the chair he had vacated.

  ' I take it that's Barry Davis?'

  Lucy nodded. ' He's a nice person. You'll like him when you get to know him.'

  ' So I'll be getting to know him, will I? Does that mean you're going to work for him?'

  ' I'm not sure. He's offering me a wonderful opportunity, but somehow I can't see myself as a model girl.'

  ' Well, don't bother about it now,' Meg said. ' The first thing is to get out of this place and go away for a holiday.'

  Lucy shivered at the thought of the seaside in January.

  The only place I want to be is home. And that's where I'm going as soon as I get these wretched bandages off.'

  But there were another two weeks to wait before the dressings were removed for the last time and the longed- for day of discharge arrived. Cindy and Barry had been frequent visitors and both of them offered to drive her home, surprised when she said she preferred to go alone.

  ' I've been in the nursing home so long,' she explained, 'that though I'm longing to go out I'm scared of it. That's why I'd rather be by myself. It sounds awfully ungrateful,' she added quickly, seeing Cindy and Barry look at each other in surprise. ' I don't mean to be, but…'

  Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away, annoyed with herself for being so emotional.

  ' We understand,' Barry said. ' If I were you I'd probably want to do the same.'

  So it was that Lucy left the Nursing Home alone, secure in the knowledge that Meg would be waiting to greet her at the flat and looking forward to driving through the London streets with no one to watch her as she breathed in the smell of traffic and people and everyday living.

  The Matron came down with her to the door, the porter lumbering behind with her cases.

  ' If you could tell him to get a taxi for me,' she said breathlessly, and extended her hand in farewell.

  ' No need for a taxi, my dear,' the Matron said cheerfully, and looked beyond Lucy's shoulder at the black and silver Rolls-Royce drawn up at the kerb. ' Mr Harlow sent his car for you. His secretary has been ringing up every day to find out when you would be leaving.'

  Lucy's anger rose at yet another of Paul Harlow's impersonal gestures, but aware that Matron was watching her she was careful to hide her feelings, and watched her cases disappear into the cavernous boot of the car before taking her seat in the luxurious calf interior. Gliding through the back streets from Devonshire Place to Bloomsbury, she was too aware of the luxury around her—the beaver car rug, the gold fittings—to enjoy her first moment of freedom in eight weeks. And it was not until she entered the Victorian mansion block and went up in the creaking lift to the top floor that she felt her life was resuming its normal course.

  The shabby flat welcomed her as it had always done and Meg, stocky and unfashionable, her intelligent face alight with pleasure, added to the feeling of homecoming. As though she were a child again returning from school, Lucy sat down to eat hot buttered toast and drink scalding tea in front of the living-room fire. Lavender dusk crept in through the long windows, but they were both too lazy to switch on the lights or draw the curtains. Firelight caught the glimmer of a gold picture frame on the wall and hinted at the tooled leather bindings that climbed row on row to the yellowed ceiling. Gradually their talk ceased and they sat on in the comfortable half dark, Meg's fingers clicking at her knitting needles, Lucy curled up in the depths of a wing chair, grateful for the familiar sounds of home: the shifting of coal in the grate, the chiming of the eighteenth-century clock on the mantel and the noise of an occasional car speeding towards the West End.

  More tired by the day than she had realized, she was almost asleep in her chair when a ring at the door jerked them both into consciousness. Setting aside her knitting, Meg went to open it. There was the sound of voices in the hall, then footsteps as Meg came back and switched on the centre light.

  Blinking her eyes in the sudden brightness, Lucy lifted her head, her pulse jumping nervously as she recognized the tall, immaculate figure behind Meg's stocky one. She made a movement to stand, but Paul Harlow crossed the room swiftly, looking at her with a half smile which she found strangely disconcerting.

  ' Please don't get up,' he said, ' and do forgive me for coming here without any warning. I only returned to this country this afternoon and this is the first opportunity I've had to come and see you. I knew you were coming home today and I was determine
d to be your first visitor.'.

  So he had been abroad during her entire stay at the Nursing Home. At least that explained his absence. But though her cause for resentment no longer existed, she still could not bring herself to feel kindly towards him, nor to lose the almost paralysing embarrassment which his proximity caused. Desperately she tried to gather her scattered senses and indicated the chair opposite. He sat down in one precise movement, carefully avoiding the tray thrust on to the carpet with its array of congealing toast, a Woolworth teapot and odds and ends of a fine china tea service.

  Lucy glanced at Meg and her friend snatched the tray up from the floor.

  'Would you like some sherry, Mr Harlow?' Lucy asked.

  'Please don't bother,' he said politely, and Lucy, wondering whether he was afraid he might be offered some cheap grocer's importation, said quickly:

  ' It's a dry Amontillado.'

  His glance, pale and shrewd, rested on her. ' No,, thank you. I've been travelling since yesterday morning, and alcohol doesn't agree with me when I'm tired.'

  ' Tea or coffee, perhaps?'

  ' Nothing, thank you,' he said, and Meg, giving Lucy a strange look, disappeared with the tray in the direction of the kitchen.

  Paul Harlow relaxed in the chair, if a straight back and precisely held head could be called relaxing.

  ' You certainly look better than you did the last time I saw you, Miss Granger.'

  She stared at him in surprise and he added: ' It was in the Nursing Home. You were unconscious and swathed in bandages.'

  ' I'm perfectly well now. I hope to be ready to start work in another week.'

  He gazed at her steadily and her embarrassment grew. She glanced at her hands, almost healed except for a few pale patches which the specialist had assured her would disappear in a few months. ' I can't even begin to thank you for all your kindness to me. It was—it was overwhelming, especially when I remember how rude I was to you at the dance.'

  ' I don't know what you mean.' His voice was drawling and she did not know whether he had truly forgotten what she had said or whether he was pretending. Either way, she knew the subject was closed for him.