by Anne Weale
When she got home, she expected to find Carola ahead of her. Instead, there was a hastily scrawled note on the hall table. Dumping her shopping on the oak chest, Rachel picked it up.
“Dear Ray,” she read, “Shall not be in for supper. Driving to coast for evening. May be late, so don’t wait up. Caro. P.S. Have borrowed your swim-suit.”
Scrunching the note into a ball, Rachel stuffed it in her pocket and went through to the garden where Suzy and Bolster were sharing some biscuits.
“Carola just dashed in. Guess who’s taking her out?” Suzy said.
“I know,” Rachel said briefly. “Oh, Bolster, get away. I don’t want to be licked, you horrible hound.”
“You sound cross,” Suzy said. “Couldn’t you get the sort of sandals you wanted?”
“Yes, I got quite a nice pair at Bellamy’s. They cost more than I meant to pay, but they should last a couple of years. They’re on the hall table if you want to look at them.”
Suzy put the last piece of biscuit in her mouth. “I do think Caro might have asked if we’d like to go,” she said indistinctly. “It’ll be super on the beach this evening. D’you think she’s keen on him?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“He’s a bit old, isn’t he?” Suzy said dubiously. “Thirty, at least.”
Rachel smiled. “Thirty isn’t actually senile, you know,” she remarked. “I’ll be thirty in six years’ time.”
“Yes, but Caro’s younger than you. He’s ten years older than she is, but only six more than you. It says in Aunt Flo’s magazine—you know, the page where people ask for advice about love and things—that it’s better to marry someone in your own age group or else they’ll be wanting to sit at home and read while their wives want to go to dances,” Suzy said solemnly.
“Going to the beach doesn’t mean he’s intending to propose, poppet,” Rachel said dryly.
“No, I know. But wouldn’t it be super if he did?” Suzy said hopefully. “Mrs. Ames says he’s having a tennis court made and all the weeds in the river have been cut, so there’s bags of room to swim.”
“Then let’s marry her off to him with all speed,” Rachel teased. But, for no good reason, her smile was an effort.
It was half-past ten and Rachel was already in bed when she heard a car pull up below the window. Five minutes later, Carola came in.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asked, as Rachel turned her head towards the door.
“No, I wasn’t asleep. Did you have a good time?”
“Mm, marvellous. I was with Daniel,” Carola said, starting to undress.
“Did you swim?”
“No. The water was quite cold, but it was lovely on the beach.”
“Yes, I expect so.”
Rachel waited for her sister to go into details as she usually did after a date. But tonight Carola was oddly uncommunicative, and, beyond mentioning that they had had supper at a hotel on the way home, she made no further reference to the outing.
The following week, Rachel went up to London to have lunch with a friend of her art school days. It was more than six months since her last excursion and, as she caught the early train from Branford Station, her spirits lifted in pleasant anticipation of the day ahead.
“Rachel! How lovely to see you—and how brown you are!” exclaimed Sally, as they met outside Swan & Edgar’s at mid-day.
She was a pretty, freckled blonde with the sooty blue eyes of a Siamese kitten and a tiny handspan waist. At the sight of her, Rachel felt a pang of regret for the time when they had shared a room in a Bayswater hostel and dreamed impossible dreams of famous futures.
Over lunch, they exchanged their news, although Rachel had little to tell compared with Sally, who was now working in a well-known advertising agency and had recently acquired a studio flat. Listening to her friend’s animated account of her work, of the people she met, and of her plans for redecorating the flat, Rachel could not help feeling a little envious.
“You know, you’ve changed a lot since you left town,” Sally said suddenly, as they lingered over coffee. “I don’t think it’s good for you to be buried in the country for such long stretches. Can’t you come up more often? Once the flat is organized, there’ll always be a spare bed of sorts, and people often ask me where you’ve hidden yourself.”
“You talk as if I had straws growing out of my ears,” Rachel said, amused.
Like many Londoners, Sally regarded the provinces as the ends of the earth, and could never understand that, in its way, life in a small village was as eventful and satisfying as the hurly-burly of the metropolis.
“No, I didn’t mean that exactly,” her friend said thoughtfully. “But you’re so much more serious than you used to be. You were as mad as I am at one time.”
“I’m four years older now,” Rachel said reasonably.
“But still safely in the gay twenties, my pet,” Sally reminded her. “Tell the family to darn their own socks for a change. Kick your heels a bit more.”
“Perhaps. I’ll see,” Rachel said, diverting the conversation into less personal channels.
At two o’clock, Sally had to dash back to her office, and Rachel strolled up Regent Street and looked at the shop windows, which were full of dashing beach clothes and filmy summer dance frocks. She was wearing a slim dress and jacket of navy shantung and, leaving Branford that morning, she had felt trim and reasonably modish. But now, studying her reflection in the plate glass and comparing it with those of the other women about, she felt suddenly dowdy and countrified. There was nothing wrong with her outfit, but it needed some kind of lift. She had drawn fifteen pounds from her bank account the previous day, intending to buy material for kitchen curtains and some other oddments for the house. Now, abruptly, she felt an impulse to splurge it on herself.
At half-past four, encumbered by several paper bags, she went to the cloakroom of the store where she had made most of her purchases. Then, after washing her hands and using a new amber-toned lipstick and a trace of aquamarine eye-shadow, she opened the largest of her bags and drew out the hat she had chosen. Appropriately named ‘Mad Meringue’ and consisting of a fly-away froth of palest lemon organza on a band of deeper lemon satin, the hat was undoubtedly the most expensive and frivolous piece of headgear she had ever bought. Balanced on her hand, it gave her a pang of guilt for her extravagance. But, carefully set on her hair, it was undoubtedly very becoming and a miraculous tonic to her dress. And with a large pearl clasp set high on her shoulder, and pale blond gloves that ruckled over her wrists, she felt very much more in vogue.
“You ’ave bin ’aving a spree, dear,” the cloakroom attendant remarked, with a wink, as Rachel searched for a sixpence.
Rachel laughed. “I know—and I feel much better for it,” she said gaily.
“That’s right, dear. Nothing like a nice new ’at to buck you up, I say.”
Going down in the lift, Rachel flexed her fingers inside the sleek new gloves and wondered why an absurdly expensive bonnet made from less than a yard of organza should give such a boost to one’s morale. Stepping out into the street, she paused, wondering where to go for tea in the hour that was left before her train went. And then, as she stood at the edge of the curb, waiting for a break in the traffic, a voice said, “Hello there,” and turning, she found Daniel Elliot beside her.
“Oh ... good afternoon,” she said, a little breathlessly.
His glance swept over her, taking in the hat and the elegant gloves.
“You’re looking very nice. Come and have tea with me,” he said, taking her elbow and hailing a passing cab. And, before she could answer, Rachel found herself being handed into a taxi.
“I wish I had met you earlier. I’ve been ordering carpets and could have done with some advice,” he said, leaning back beside her and stretching his long legs. “What have you been up to?”
“Just lunching with a friend and shopping.” She was still a little dazed at the unexpectedness of meeting him.
“A man?” he asked. Then, as she shook her head, “Pity. A hat like that shouldn’t be wasted on another girl.”
Rachel smiled and colored slightly. “I’ve only just bought it. I had a sudden fit of extravagance. It’s just as well I don’t come up too often. I meant to buy something sensible.”
“You’re too young to be sensible,” he said. “And a becoming hat is always worth a bit of extravagance.”
“You should be quite an expert on the subject, Mr. Elliot. Are you a connoisseur? Most Englishmen hardly notice what women are wearing.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“You agreed to call me Daniel, remember?” he said teasingly. “No, I’m no expert. But a hat does something for a woman—like a kiss, you know. A man has to be a pretty dull dog not to notice that extra sparkle.”
Rachel’s cheeks grew warmer, but she laughed and said, “Well, I’m glad you approve of it. I only hope the family will.”
The taxi edged out of Bond Street and swung right along Piccadilly.
“Are we going in here?” she asked, startled, as they stopped at the entrance to the Ritz.
“Where else can we go when you look so ornamental?” he asked, with a glint in his eyes.
Some time later, eating a delicious strawberry gateau and watching a purple-haired dowager feeding titbits of petits fours to a complacent pug, Rachel remembered Sally’s advice at lunch time and wished her friend could see her at this moment. She must have smiled to herself, as, when she returned her attention to Daniel, his eyebrow was arched in enquiry.
“Something amuses you?” he asked.
“Just a thought. My lunch date was lecturing me about getting in a rut, but I doubt if her social whirl reaches this level.” Her glance roamed the other tables again. "I’m probably the only woman in the place who isn’t wearing a Paris original,” she said, a shade wryly.
“I shouldn’t let it depress you. You’re probably the only one whose figure owes nothing to massage and a diet of pills. You may not realize it, but I expect most of them envy you.”
“Envy me?” she repeated, startled. “Why on earth should they?”
He smiled. “Because you’re young, honey.”
Or because I’m with a good-looking man, Rachel thought to herself, wondering if the ‘honey’ had slipped out, or had been tacked on to provoke her.
“Did you find the kind of carpets you wanted?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so. Setting up house is out of my line, but I’m getting the hang of it,” he said.
“I suppose you know that the entire village is rabid with curiosity?”
He smiled. “I had an idea they might be. How about you?”
“It is all rather intriguing,” she admitted. “What a pity you aren’t married. Most women love choosing color schemes and hunting for the right bits of furniture.”
“A wife is on my shopping list,” he said gravely. “I’ve got hold of a couple to look after me for the time being, but there’s no point in paying outsiders if one can get the work done for nothing.”
She laughed. “I refuse to rise,” she said lightly. “These cakes are sapping my energy. Oh heavens, it's gone five. I shall have to fly. I want to catch the quarter to six. Thank you for the tea.”
“Thank me on the way home,” he said easily. “My car’s round the corner. I haven’t been using it in town because of the traffic. There’s no point in taking a train when I have to pass your door.”
“Oh ... but aren’t you staying on till later?” she asked doubtfully.
“No, I’ve had enough of the city for one day. Shall we get started?”
The car was parked in a side street and, after putting her into it, he asked her if she would mind waiting for a few minutes while he found a newsvendor.
But when he returned, he was not carrying a paper but a large tissue-wrapped sheaf which he dropped on to her lap.
“Oh, they’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, drawing back the tissue and finding a dozen deep red carnations. “But you shouldn’t have bought them.”
“I thought flowers and chocolates were the two things one could give a girl,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.
“Well, yes—but not usually carnations. They’re the height of luxury. Mm, what a heavenly scent.” She closed her eyes for a moment and dipped her face among the fringed petals. “Are you heaping coals of fire on my head?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I—I haven’t been very cordial to you at times,” she said shyly.
He let in the clutch and they slid away from the pavement. “I think ‘indifferent’ was the word you used, wasn’t it?” he said, slanting a quizzical glance at her.
Rachel tucked the protective tissue in place and turned to lay the flowers on the back seat.
“I don’t suppose it concerned you very much, whatever it was,” she said lightly.
“You seem to regard me as a very hard-boiled character.”
“No, not hard-boiled exactly. But I think you enjoy provoking people.”
“It’s certainly the quickest way to find out what goes on beneath the social shell,” he said. “Or haven’t you discovered yet that most people put on a mask in public?”
“I think it is very difficult to know people, but not because they try to hide themselves—at least, not consciously,” she said thoughtfully.
“As far as women are concerned, I should say the process is highly conscious,” he said cynically.
She glanced at him, noticing a sudden hardness in the set of his mouth. With any other man, she would have suspected that the cynicism sprang from some disillusioning experience in his past. But somehow she could not imagine Daniel Elliot as the victim of a designing woman. He seemed too shrewd, too knowledgeable.
Speculating about the women in his life, she remembered suddenly that, a few days earlier, Carola had been his companion in this car. She wondered how that meeting had come about, and why her sister had been so reticent about it.
Almost as if he could read her thought processes, Daniel said, “Take your sister, for example. If one judged her at face value, one would have an entirely false impression of her character.”
“Carola? Do you think so?” Rachel asked, startled. “What kind of impression?”
He smiled at that, and now his mouth seemed to have a suggestion of tenderness about it. As if Carola’s behavior had amused and also touched him.
“One would certainly take her for an extremely sophisticated young person,” he said dryly. “We went for a run together recently, and there were moments when I felt quite callow beside her worldliness.”
“Perhaps she was just behaving in the way she thought you would expect of her,” Rachel said slowly. “But I think Carola is rather sophisticated for her age. That doesn’t make her less likeable than a more immature girl, does it? Just because she’s so pretty and well-dressed, it doesn’t follow that she’s also frivolous and shallow, you know.”
“By no means,” Daniel agreed. “I find her most engaging. I’m only surprised that someone has not yet laid claim to her.”
Perhaps it was only her fancy, but it seemed to Rachel that this last remark was intended as a discreet probe. For reasons that she did not care to analyze, she began to wish that her sister had never entered the conversation.
“Carola’s planning a career in London. I don’t think she wants to get involved yet,” she answered flatly.
“No, perhaps not,” Daniel said thoughtfully, and there was something in his tone that made Rachel feel curiously deflated.
For the next few miles they were both silent. They were nearly out of the suburbs now and, as houses and shopping centres gave place to fields and leafy copses, Rachel knew that she could never endure to live in London again. It was lovely for an occasional day—although even then her feet soon began to ache and her throat to feel dry from traffic fumes—but it was not a place to live. At least, not for her—and certainly not in summer.
Pre
sently, Daniel swung off the main highway and turned down a quiet side road. Perhaps it was a shorter way home. Rachel was not sufficiently familiar with the motor routes between London and Branford to know.
But half an hour later, soon after they had passed through a pretty little village, he drew up in the gravelled forecourt of a riverside inn.
“As it’s such a fine evening, I thought you might care to have a stroll along the towpath and dine alfresco,” he said, switching off the engine.
From where she sat, Rachel could see an attractive paved patio at the side of the inn and right on the edge of the river. There was a white-painted trellis covered with yellow roses, and the dining tables were shaded by multi-colored umbrellas. A cruiser was moored to the far bank, and as she watched, a family of ducks swam past. It looked a most inviting place.
“It’s very kind of you, Daniel,” she said uncertainly, “but if I’m not home by seven they’ll wonder if something is wrong. I don’t think I ought to stay.”
“We’ll give them a ring and explain,” he said briskly, getting out of his seat and coming round the bonnet to help her.
And still murmuring half-hearted objections that there would be nobody to cook supper at home and see Suzy to bed on time, Rachel let herself be led into the inn.
“You go and powder your nose and find somewhere to stow your hat. I’ll deal with the explanations,” Daniel said, indicating the ladies’ cloakroom and then turning away to a telephone kiosk.
So Rachel went to wash her hands and put on fresh lipstick, and then left all her belongings except her bag in the care of the barmaid.
They walked as far as some lock-gates and when they came back there was just time for a drink before their meal was served. There was no one else dining on the patio, and presently the duck family returned and paddled hopefully about in hope of scraps.
“Nice place, don’t you think?” Daniel said, lighting a cheroot after the waitress had brought their coffee.
“Yes, it’s heaven. How did you find it?” Rachel asked.
“Just by chance when I was roaming around one day. Like to go for a row downstream before we leave? Or will your suit get spoilt in a boat?”
