'What is it with me that makes everyone think I'm so invincible?' Verity demanded irritably. 'I'm always the one expected to change light bulbs, mend fuses, put plugs on anything electrical—the list is endless. I even have a friend who's amazed I actually know which holes to put the oil and water in my Mini!'
Niall eyed her uneasily. 'O.K. Simmer down. Next time I see a puddle I'll throw my coat down for you to trample on—is that better?'
Verity grinned and got up to refill his glass. 'Don't mind me, Niall, it's been a hard week, that's all. I'm not cut out for the role of teacher. To be fair I think Ben Dysart's having difficulties in adjusting, too. It must have come as a shock to him when his brother died.'
'Yes,' agreed Niall soberly. 'The whole thing was pretty grim.'
'What happened? I was up with Mother in Birkenhead at the time.'
'There was a fire in the stables in the night. The Dysarts were away, the stablehand was spending an illicit night away with his girlfriend and by the time help arrived Nick had got the horses out, but the fumes had done for him. He was asthmatic, poor chap.'
'Oh Lord!' Verity was horror struck. 'How terrible!'
Niall nodded. 'My father went to the funeral. I gather his parents were shattered, and Ben just stood between them with a frozen face, trying to comfort them both.'
Verity could picture it. 'Poor things,' she said softly, then changed the subject. 'What party are we going to tomorrow night?'
Mall's face cleared. 'Didn't I say? It's a fancy dress affair for charity—in aid of the local children's home. We're all supposed to turn up in Victorian costume at the Conways. You know what Madeleine Conway is for something different. I think I heard something about dancing on the lawn and all that kind of thing.'
Verity looked at him in exasperation. 'I knew it was at the Conways but you forbore to mention anything about fancy dress. Where on earth am I going to find anything Victorian by tomorrow night, you oaf?'
'Ask Hett. She'll find you something,' he said carelessly and finished his beer. 'I must go, Vee, I'm working tomorrow too. Pick you up about nine, O.K?'
Verity saw him to the gate. 'Do you have a costume?' she asked.
'Bloke at the office dug up some antique cricketing gear—great fun, I'll look like W. G. Grace. Goodnight, love.' He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly, breaking off as a car came down the road and stopped near by. 'That'll be Hett no doubt. See you tomorrow.' Niall got in the car, waving as Henrietta came in at the gate and strolled up the path with Verity, yawning.
'The show went well tonight, Hett,' said Verity as they went in the house. 'Want a drink?'
'No thanks, Vee. I'm out on my feet. It was packed, wasn't it—good chemistry, I thought.' Henrietta examined Verity's face critically—'You look a lot better tonight.'
'I feel better—finished my week of tutorial today.' Verity smiled happily.
'Oh, the aristocratic Mr Dysart. He's not that bad, surely?' Henrietta's blue eyes were teasing.
'No, not really,' Verity admitted grudgingly, and changed the subject. 'I'm not tremendously pleased with Niall, either. He's known for ages that the party we're invited to tomorrow is fancy dress and only saw fit to inform me tonight.'
'Oh I say, Vee, how typical! Is there a theme?' Henrietta's sympathy was roused.
'Victorian.'
'Oh well, not to worry—I'll sort something out for you.'
'But I'm working until four, Hett!'
Nothing dismayed, Henrietta soon ironed out the problem, taking Verity's measurements quickly. 'Hold still—there. Done.' She scribbled down the vital statistics and smiled serenely. 'I'll get one of the chaps to run me back after the matinee with some borrowed plumes.'
'You're an angel, Hett, but don't put yourself out— I'll call in at the theatre. I know how tired you get on matinee days.' Verity smiled warmly.
'Fine. Now let's go to bed. I won't promise that the costume will be bang on Victorian, but I'll find something. Are your preferences aristocratic, or poor-but-honest?'
Verity grimaced. 'Definitely not aristocratic! I'd prefer something lower down the scale if you can manage it.'
It was still warm when Verity arrived home with her bundle of loot from the theatre. It had been a busy day, but for some reason she felt full of vitality, her recent malaise vanished like magic, and she unpacked the parcel of clothes with anticipation while Jenny made some tea and took two plates of salad out of the refrigerator.
'I got up early today, it was so hot,' Jenny explained. 'So I thought we'd have tea on the lawn. Prawns suit you?'
'Admirably.' Verity smiled gratefully. 'You're spoiling me.'
'I wasn't doing anything so I thought I'd make myself useful. What have you got there?' Jenny peered at the contents of the parcel curiously.
'I just collected this from the theatre.' Verity chuckled as she deciphered the note Henrietta had put in for her. 'I think these are instructions, but Hett's writing is so diabolical I can hardly make it out.'
They examined the little pile of clothes, chuckling at Henrietta's loose interpretation of a Victorian costume. Her scrawl informed Verity that if she was to be authentically in period a corset was necessary. 'Too hot, Vee, so do your best with this lot—the blouse could do with a wash.'
'A wash!' Verity grinned. 'It's a bit late for that—the sun's still hot, though. Put the salad back in the fridge, Jen, I'll just rinse out the white things.'
A few minutes later a frilled mobcap, a draw-string muslin blouse and a frilly white petticoat were waving gently in the evening breeze while the two girls enjoyed their meal. Jenny laughed when she heard how Niall had neglected to mention that Verity was expected to turn up to the party in costume.
'Men!' she said amiably. 'Why on earth do we put up with them?'
'Goodness knows.' Verity poured out tea and sat back, relaxed. 'Working tonight, Jen?'
'Yes. Richard's on call this weekend, so I'm having nights off on Monday and Tuesday. Oh, by the way, Hett is staying with one of the other girls tonight. She forgot to mention it last night.'
'I dare say I'll manage without you both—sorry you have to work though.'
'Frankly I prefer it to cavorting round in costume, like you and Hett!'
Verity was almost in agreement by the time the necessary ironing was done and she was finally arrayed in the costume. She surveyed her reflection doubtfully. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the voluminous dark red skirt, which looped up over the petticoat to show Verity's slim ankles, nor the low-cut blouse, although the latter left a great deal of smooth brown skin exposed. It was Henrietta's masterstroke that made such a transformation. She had included a quantity of long brown ringlets on a band to fasten under the frill of the saucy mobcap and mingle with Verity's own hair. The result changed her appearance quite startlingly, even to her own critical eye, making her look younger, less self-assured, and for a moment she was tempted to strip the entire outfit off and wear an ordinary dress, but the doorbell interrupted her. She went down on bare feet to let Niall in, feeling self-conscious and slightly embarrassed.
'Verity!' He stood staring at her for a moment, then gave a long, low whistle. 'Well, well! Who's a pretty girl then!'
'You don't think I look silly, Niall?' Verity craned to see her back view in the hall mirror. 'I left it up to Henrietta, but to me the result looks more Nell Gwyn than Victoria.'
He leered at her and stroked his moustache. 'Who cares? You look terrific—but you don't intend going barefoot I presume?'
Verity frowned- 'No. Help yourself to a drink while I go and rummage.'
A hasty search turned up a pair of soft-soled black pumps once worn to a keepfit class, and with one last look in the mirror Verity went down to Niall, who looked cool in striped blazer and flannels, though more reminiscent of the twenties than the previous century. He put down his drink and slid an arm round her waist, to her surprise, bending his face to hers.
'Seeing you dressed like that, it seems a pity we
have to go anywhere,' he muttered. 'I'd rather stay here.'
Verity avoided his seeking mouth and pushed him away impatiently. 'If you think I've gone to all this trouble at such short notice, Niall Gordon, just to stay at home you can think again!'
He sighed and picked up his car keys, looking at her ruefully. 'Why are you never in the mood for, well—'
'Dalliance?' she suggested tartly. 'That's the right word for this get-up, I suppose. I thought we were just good friends, Niall. I've never led you to suppose anything else.'
'I know.' He sighed. 'But one can always hope— come on, let's go.'
The party was in full swing then they got to the Conways, music playing in the extensive gardens, which were lit by subdued lamps strung among the trees. They found their host presiding over the barbecue at the back of the house with the help of several friends. He greeted them with enthusiasm, dressed in nineteenth-century butcher's rig, complete with enormous fake mutton-chop whiskers.
'Very appropriate, Harry,' grinned Niall as he handed over their entrance-money for the charity. Almost at once he and Verity were engulfed in a crowd of laughing friends, everyone in some sort of attempt at Victoriana but few of them very accurate, and no one very critical, though Verity came in for a lot of admiration from the men, somewhat to her embarrassment. She was soon separated from Niall, as first one man then another asked her to dance, but whether it was the abundance of wine, or the unfamiliar clothes, or just the sultry heat of the July night, she felt unaccountably on edge. She ate a little of the food Niall brought her, then danced again, laughing as her partner twirled her round in the waltz that had unexpectedly succeeded the disco music of earlier on. When Verity finally came to a halt, laughing and breathless, she became suddenly aware of the man watching her from the shadow of one of the trees and turned away abruptly, her gaiety quenched, aware that her blouse was slipping off her shoulders and untidy strands of hair lay across her forehead, which felt damp and flushed from her exertions.
Ben Dysart was the last man she either expected, or wanted to see. She kept her back turned in his direction, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Niall brought her and drinking thirstily.
'Isn't that your friend Dysart over there?' Niall gave her a sly grin. 'Have you seen the gear he's wearing?'
'No,' said Verity shortly. 'I didn't notice.' Which was the truth. It was the look in his eyes which had caught her attention, even from a distance making her conscious of tumbled hair and revealing blouse, as though she actually were the easy-going wench her costume suggested. She smiled at Niall brightly. 'I'm going indoors to tidy myself up. See you later.'
Once inside the house Verity made for a cloakroom and did some rapid repairs on her face and hair, retying the cord of her blouse with a jerk and wishing it were time to leave. There was no point in hiding away, she knew, so with head up she went out into the big hall, recognising the figure in the open doorway with a sense of resignation. Ben was standing still, just looking at her in silence, his legs slightly apart, his arms folded across his chest, the clothes he wore making every other man's costume seem silly and artificial by comparison.
In spite of the heat he was wearing heavy boots with gaiters and moleskin trousers, a leather waistcoat open over a striped collarless shirt and a dark red handkerchief knotted at his throat. Verity seemed to have lost the power of speech. They just looked at each other in a silence which intensified and grew, emphasised by the background of music and laughter outside. It was both a shock and a relief when Ben's voice finally broke the silence.
'Pretty Polly Perkins, I assume?' He raised a black eyebrow in caustic enquiry then turned sharply as a familiar fluting voice cried, 'Hello, you two. So this is where you disappeared, Ben!'
Gussie stood under the porch light in all the glory of a hired fin de siecle gown in sky-blue satin with low cut bodice and skirt draped into a bustle behind, her hair piled in purls on top of her head. It was a fierce comfort to Verity to note that Gussie looked very hot in her tightly corseted splendour, and with uncharacteristic lack of charity she smiled sweetly and said, 'Don't tell me, let me guess—Lady Chatterley, Gussie?' Verity's hazel eyes glittered as they travelled from Gussie to Ben. 'And you, Mr Dysart, are obviously—'
'A common or garden gamekeeper,' he interrupted brusquely. 'Authentic, I assure you.'
Gussie's eyes narrowed as they took in Verity's ringlets and frills. 'Goodness, darling, not your usual style, all that.' She gestured at Verity's décolletage. 'Frightfully daring—I don't know that it suits you.'
'I disagree with you there,' said Ben, his eyes lingering very deliberately on the area of Verity's anatomy under discussion.
Colour high, Verity moved past him, smiling sweetly at the other girl. 'Peter away again, Gussie?'
Gussie, stiffened, offended. 'No. He's over there somewhere talking to the Conways. We were unforgivably late .so he's still apologising, poor darling.'
Verity left Gussie and Ben together, her back very straight as she went over to Peter Middleton, who was perspiring in full nineties evening dress, complete with white gloves and monocle, his face flushed as he. talked to his hosts. He turned to greet Verity with pleasure, and excusing himself from the Conways, drew her aside to go into a lengthy discussion on the cottage, informing her confidentially of Sir Hugh Dysart's offer and asking whether Verity thought the asking price could have been higher.
She disagreed, reminding him of the lack of garage facilities, reluctant to talk business at a party, but not having the heart to cut Peter short.
'I'd accept the offer, Peter,' she advised. 'This is entirely unofficial and solely my own opinion, of course, but I'm sure my boss would agree that you're unlikely to get a better one.'
His boyish, pleasant face cleared, and he nodded. 'If you really think so, Verity, then that's it. I'll take your word for it.' His face softened into a tender smile as Gussie came up and slid a hand through his own. Ben was nowhere in sight, to Verity's relief. 'Verity thinks we should accept Sir Hugh's offer, darling.'
Gussie shot a triumphant look at Verity. 'Fantastic!' She gazed up at her husband with a melting little-girl look that made Verity cringe. 'And we will be able to have the Wentworth place, won't we, angel?'
Verity was deeply grateful to see Niall beckoning her to join a noisy group on the other side of the lawn, and went over to learn that another means of raising money for the children's home had been proposed. The ladies were asked to retire indoors and put some article of clothing, or jewellery, into a basket, then each article would be auctioned off to the highest bidder among the men, who would be entitled to claim a kiss from the owner once the proceedings were completed. As winner of the National Competition for Auctioneers Niall was the obvious choice to conduct the bidding, and hastily provided with a hammer and a wooden box to pound on, he took charge.
Verity's first impulse had been to throw one of her gold hoop earrings into the basket, but she changed her mind as a great many others went into the haul, and finally undid the small gold safety pin reinforcing the fastening of her petticoat and, unnoticed, hid it at the bottom of the heap of objects.
Niall was splendid as auctioneer, both efficient and humorous, not allowing the proceedings to drag, or the bidding to go on too long. Large sums were not expected, but there was much hilarity as men bid for and won, garters, earrings, handkerchiefs and a variety of other belongings. Peter made himself rather conspicuous by bidding far too persistently for one of Gussie's easily identified pearl-drop earrings, to his wife's ill-concealed chagrin, and Verity laughed and applauded with the rest as each item went under the hammer, aware that Ben Dysart was back in his former place under the tree, watching the proceedings with enjoyment, but making no attempt to join in.
'And now we come to the final item, ladies and gentlemen,' announced Niall. He grinned as he mopped his perspiring forehead, then held up the last tiny object. 'To those of you unable to make out this minuscule, but very functional object, I would recommend it as usefu
l, if not decorative, fashioned of pure gold, of course, and worthy of a good price for this very deserving cause.' He cast an expectant look around his amused audience. 'Now what am I bid for this genuine gold safety-pin. Do I hear—'
'Twenty pounds,' said a quiet voice.
Niall gave a startled glance in the direction of Ben Dysart and automatically went through the motions of asking for more, finally winding up the proceedings with 'Going once, going twice—sold to the gentleman on my left.'
In the immediate uproar that resulted as men tried to find the owners of the various trifles Verity was glad of the confusion as first one, then another, begged her to lay claim to their spoils. She waited, half-dreading, half-anticipating the moment when Ben Dysart finally confronted her with the safety-pin. There was, of course, absolutely no way he could know it was hers. For that matter she could deny ownership even if he did confront her with it, but when she cast a furtive glance towards the tree he'd been propped against for most of the evening he was nowhere to be seen. To her intense irritation Verity felt deflated.
It was almost an hour later when the party finally broke up and Niall drove Verity home. She felt tired and flat, even though in some ways the party had been great fun. Gussie had enjoyed herself hugely, apparently unaffected by Ben's early departure, dancing with most of the men there apart from her husband, who seemed perfectly content just to stand watching her with an indulgently proud smile that both touched and irritated Verity. She longed to urge him to be more positive with Gussie, not let her ride roughshod over him, but knew it was no use.
The road where she lived was dark and deserted when Niall drew up at Verity's gate. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, thanking him for taking her to the party, and was out of the car before he could suggest coming in for a nightcap. She felt restless and out of sorts, very definitely not in the mood for the hassle of rejecting the amorous overtures she was certain Niall would make if she asked him in.
'Ring me,' she whispered hurriedly. 'Good night.'
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