by Anne Weale
“But, Carola, if he—” Rachel stopped short, biting her lip. She could think of only one reason for her sister being so distressed, so nearly hysterical. Yet she could not bring herself to believe that Daniel would ... her mind shied from the thought.
“Carola, please—you must tell me what’s happened,” she said desperately.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The younger girl tore a handful of cotton-wool off the roll and began rubbing away the grease. “I shall be darned glad when I get to London,” she said violently. “The trouble with this house is that one can’t have a second’s privacy. There’s always someone around to start prying and probing. Why can’t any of you realize that I’m not a child any longer? I won’t be cross-examined all the time.”
Rachel set her teeth. “What can you expect? You come rushing in as if the world was at an end. Did you think I would ignore you?”
Carola slapped a fresh layer of cream on her face. “I was ... upset,” she muttered crossly. “I didn’t expect you to be in here.”
“Well, I was—and if you don’t want Dad to know about it, you’d better tell me the truth,” Rachel retorted, in a deliberately threatening tone. It was only a bluff, of course. She did not really intend to bring her father into the business. But the fear that Doctor Burney might rescind his permission for her to live in London was the one consideration which might induce her sister to confide in her.
For a moment she thought it would work. Carola looked daunted and seemed on the point of capitulating. But then alarm gave place to defiance.
Her mouth hardened and she shrugged. “So it’s blackmail now—charming!”
“Oh, Carola, don’t be so mulish. Of course it isn’t blackmail. But if you ... if Daniel ... if something unpleasant has happened...” Rachel ended the sentence with a gesture of confusion.
Her sister’s expression was derisive now. “Are you trying to say that, if Daniel made a pass at me, I ought to get Dad to rush round to the Hall with a horse-whip?” she enquired acidly. Then, as Rachel flushed, “You’ve never liked Daniel, have you? I wonder why? Or are you jumping to sinister conclusions—and putting on this show of sisterly indignation—for another reason?”
She rose from the dressing stool and unhooked her terry towelling bathrobe from the back of the bedroom door. “It couldn’t be that you’re envious, could it, Rachel?” she asked sweetly. “It couldn’t possibly be that you’re a teeny bit tired of Earnest Edward—that you wish someone like Daniel would make a pass at you?”
Rachel’s face went scarlet. But before she could open her mouth, Carola swept out of the room and locked herself in the bathroom.
It was not until late the next day that Rachel realized she had not yet told her family of her broken engagement. Preoccupied with and distressed by the scene with Carola, she had not given it a thought, and was reluctant to face the questions and commiserations that the news must inevitably bring. She decided not to mention it for a day or two—after all, it was essentially a personal matter between herself and Edward, so there would be no harm in keeping it to herself for a little longer.
Although they both made a pretense of normality in front of the others, she and Carola were no longer on speaking terms, it seemed. Her sister avoided being alone with her, and either went to bed early and pretended to be asleep when Rachel came up, or stayed up late herself.
At the end of the week—when this uncomfortable state of affairs was still going on—Doctor Burney departed for the north of Scotland where, every year, he spent ten days fishing.
His locum arrived on Friday evening and proved to be an amiable but extremely unprepossessing young man. He had the round protruding eyes, buck teeth and chinless grin of a cartoon chipmunk. However, he could not help his looks and his high-pitched snorting laugh, and he seemed very anxious to fit in and be friendly.
On Saturday evening, Rachel crossed the green to post a letter for her aunt and, as she returned, met Daniel. He came out of the public bar at the Saracen just as she was passing the inn, so there was no time to turn back or cross the road. Expecting him to start a conversation, she prepared to say a frigid ‘Good evening’ and march past. It was something of a shock when, without breaking his stride, he gave her a casual nod, and went on towards the bridge over the goosebeck.
Rachel found herself rooted to the spot, staring after him with an open mouth and a feeling of puzzled frustration. It was very unlike Daniel virtually to cut her. Could this uncharacteristic behavior have some connection with whatever had passed between him and Carola earlier in the week? It must have. Perhaps, for once in his life, he had the grace to feel ashamed of himself.
Yet, as she continued to ponder the incident during the evening, Rachel found herself increasingly dissatisfied with the assumption that Daniel had hurried away from her in guilty embarrassment. Somehow, such behavior just didn’t tally with what she knew of him. And there had been nothing shamefaced in the glance he had given her, rather a suggestion of cool contempt—as if she was the one who deserved to be censured.
The more she thought about it, and about her sister’s emotional behavior the other night, the less she believed in her original conclusion that, in Carola’s words, Daniel had made a pass at her.
And then, suddenly, while she was doing some weeding in the garden before it grew dusk, she saw an explanation that could account for everything—and which was even more chilling than her first conclusion. What if Carola had been so upset because Daniel had asked her to marry him and she had had the painful task of refusing him? Carola might pretend to be hard-boiled and mercenary, but she was not really so at all. That sally she had once made about marrying Daniel for his money had been calculated to shock. She had not meant it. And if, quite unwittingly, she had led Daniel to suppose that her feelings for him were much stronger than was actually the case, it was extremely likely that a proposal of marriage would not only astound her but cause her considerable distress.
“No wonder she lashed out so viciously when I accused him of behaving badly,” Rachel thought miserably. “And that’s obviously the reason why he avoided me tonight. He wants to forget the Burneys at the moment.”
Sitting back on her heels in the twilit garden, she stared bleakly at the wall behind the border. She was still kneeling there, in despair, when Aunt Florence came out to chide her for risking a chill.
Boarding the Branford train after her day in London, Carola knew that she ought to be feeling on top of the world. That morning, after an interview with the principal of one of the best model training schools, she had been accepted for their next fulltime course, to start in September. Then she had lunched with Rachel’s college friend, Sally, and arranged to share the Knightsbridge studio flat which was proving too expensive for Sally to keep to herself. Finally, she had her hair restyled at a famous Mayfair salon.
Yet, as she found an unreserved seat in the restaurant car and unbuttoned the jacket of her cool primrose Courtelle suit—worn with a sleeveless white pique waistcoat and a matching pill-box hat—she felt no elation or excitement. Only the dull, deadening wretchedness that had weighted her spirits ever since that last evening at Peter’s flat.
At first, slamming out of the flat after his brutal rejection, she had been so fiercely angry and humiliated that, if her father had not already consented to her London plans, she might well have left home in defiance. She had been desperate enough for any foolishness. And, if Daniel had not brought her to her senses with some shaming but salutary home truths after she had thrown herself at his head, she might well have landed herself in real trouble.
There was another five minutes to go before the train pulled out, and she lit a cigarette, ignoring the interested glance of a young man at the table across the gangway. Admiration no longer excited her. Instead of being, scornful of women who had no fashion sense and no obsessive care for their looks, she found herself studying them, searching for the quality that she must lack.
“It’s very stuffy in here. Would y
ou like your window opened?” the young man asked, smiling at her. But it was a smile that said, “Whew! What a dish” and not, “You look a nice girl—pretty, too.”
“Thank you,” Carola said stiffly, forestalling any conversational progress by opening a magazine.
A steward came in and he, too, looked at her in the way she had once taken as a tribute but which now she disliked and resented. She ordered a tomato juice, and hoped that whoever came to share the table was not a man.
Then, glancing out of the window at the latecomers hurrying up .the platform, she stiffened. Carrying a suitcase and talking to the flustered-looking elderly woman bustling along beside him was Peter.
As he passed the window, he glanced into the dining car and saw Carola. But he did not pause in his stride and there was no reaction in his expression.
A moment later, she heard his companion boarding the train at the next entrance, and the sounds of both their footsteps going on down the corridor. Then a porter came by, slamming the carriage doors, and the train began to move.
Carola stubbed out her cigarette with fingers that quivered slightly. If Peter came into the restaurant car, she didn’t want to be alone.
Turning to the man opposite, and quashing her dislike of oily hair, jazzy silk cravats and club blazers, she gave him an oncoming smile, and said, “Thank heavens we aren’t' crowded. It’s been such a hot day, hasn’t it?”
By the time the steward brought their cold meat salads, the young man had introduced himself as Ronald Evans and was sharing her table. When, twenty minutes later, Peter came in, alone, he might reasonably have deduced that Carola and Mr. Evans were intimately acquainted.
It was a nerve-racking meal. ‘Ronnie’ Evans obviously regarded himself as the answer to every woman’s prayer, a cracking wit and a bit of a devil as well.
Laughing merrily at his jolly jokes and dodging the pressure of his knee under the table, Carola was wretchedly conscious of the silent contempt that emanated from the table across the aisle. Once she sneaked a covert glance at Peter, her color rising as she met his sardonic regard.
By the time the peach Melbas arrived, Ronnie was playing footsie with greater determination and Carola was wondering how on earth she was going to give him the slip when they reached Branford.
After swallowing her coffee, she went off to powder her nose, even a British Railways lavatory being a welcome sanctuary from the fast-working Mr. Evans.
When, after about twenty minutes’ respite, she braced herself for the remainder of the journey, she found Peter standing in the second corridor between the lavatories and the dining car.
He had chosen a position outside an empty compartment, and as she made to step past, he barred her way.
“Haven’t you had enough of that chap?” he enquired coldly.
Carola’s chin came up. “Please mind your own business.”
For answer, he bundled her roughly into the empty compartment and pushed her on to a seat. “Don’t be a fool, Carola,” he said scornfully, closing the door and leaning his shoulders against it. “What are you trying to prove? That I’m not the only pebble on the beach? I know that well enough. But any gum-chewing little floosie could score a nit with that ape in there. You’re just making an idiot of yourself.”
“That’s nothing new. It seems to be my chief function in life,” Carola said tersely. “But who is the ape around here is a matter of opinion. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll have to ask Ronnie to deal with you.”
Peter grinned, but there was no humor in his face. “You’re scaring me,” he said nastily.
Carola set her teeth. It had been a foolish threat, for she, too, had noticed that there was more padding than muscle under the shoulders of Ronnie Evans’s blue blazer. And it would be he, not Peter, who would shy from a public rumpus.
Keeping a rein on her temper, not looking at him, she said curtly, “Look, you’ve already made it clear that you think I’m vain and mercenary and unreliable. Why can’t you leave it at that?”
“I never called you any of those things.”
“You certainly implied them.”
“I did not. I said I didn’t think you were ready to settle down yet. Maybe I didn’t express it very tactfully, but if you hadn’t rushed off in a huff—”
He sat down beside her and caught hold of both her hands. “Carola, you must listen to me. I’ve been going nearly crazy watching you playing up to that creep in the dining car. If you—”
“I don’t know why you should. You don’t own me,” Carola cut in.
His grip tightened, making her wince. “I’m in love with you,” he said savagely.
The door of the compartment was pulled aside, and Ronald Evans stood looking down at them with a blend of perplexity and annoyance.
“Here you are. You’ve been gone so long I thought something must have happened,” he began, speaking to Carola.
“It did,” Peter said tersely. “Miss Burney got tired of your face.”
“But ... I say ... look here—”
Peter rose to his feet. “On your way, my friend.” Mr. Evans saw the menacing set of his jaw and the challenge in his eyes. Without further protest, he withdrew into the corridor and disappeared.
“Oh, Peter, you needn’t have been so rude,” Carola exclaimed.
“I’d like to have knocked him down, the fatuous oaf. How you could—”
“It was only because I was so ... so miserable about you,” she put in hastily. Then, bending her head and speaking in a rather muffled voice, “I’ve been so wretched about ... us, that I didn’t care what I did.”
“Carola, don’t cry. Oh, darling, what a brute I’ve been to you. But I was so darned depressed after that go of ’flu ... and it will be so long before I’m earning enough to keep you properly, and...” Peter stopped trying to explain himself. Putting his arms round her, he said huskily, “Let’s not talk about it now, just ... kiss me.”
Roused from sleep by a hand rocking her shoulder, Rachel muttered resentfully and burrowed deeper into the bedclothes.
“Oh, Ray, do wake up. I shall have to leave for work in ten minutes, and your toast is getting cold.” Carola pulled at the sheet and shook her sister more forcefully.
“Leave for work? What time is it? The alarm hasn’t gone yet, has it?” Rachel grabbed at the covers, but only to ward off the fresh morning breeze from the window till she was properly awake. She was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes and blinking.
“I put the catch down when I got up. Look, I’ve brought you a breakfast tray. Do have the toast while it’s hot.”
Carola getting up early ... preparing buttered toast ... smiling and looking affectionate. For a moment, Rachel thought she must still be asleep and dreaming.
Her sister sensed her incredulity, and she flushed and looked embarrassed. “I’m trying to make amends for being such a pig to you lately,” she said penitently. “I’m sorry, Ray—I didn’t mean to be so foul, but ... well, everything had gone wrong and I felt as cross as a bear.”
“Oh, Caro, don’t be silly. It was my fault, too. I shouldn’t have started sermonizing,” Rachel answered readily. Fully awake now, she felt a wave of relief that hostilities between them seemed to have come to an end. “I say—breakfast in bed. What luxury. I must just whip out and clean my teeth, and then I’ll recline like a duchess. The toast looks blissful. Oh, incidentally, how did you get on yesterday? Is everything fixed up?”
Carola began to pour a cup of coffee for her. “Yes, it went very well. All I have to do now is to give in my notice at Whiteways.” She waited until her sister had brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and climbed back into bed. “But that isn’t why I’m feeling so top-of-the-world-ish. Oh, Ray, you’ll never guess what’s happened. I can hardly believe it myself. I’m engaged, sweetie. Miraculously, wonderfully engaged. Why, what’s the matter? Is the coffee nasty? It can't be. I made it so carefully.”
Rachel carefully set down the cup which she had almost
dropped. “The coffee’s fine,” she said hastily. “I—I think I must have lost a filling. I get a terrific twinge in a tooth.”
“Oh, poor you. The nerve must be exposed. You’d better ring up—”
“Yes ... yes, I will.” Rachel thrust her hands under the sheet to hide their sudden unsteadiness. “But never mind that now. What about your ... engagement? When did it happen?”
Carola grinned. “On the train home from London—of all places. He’d been in town for a day, too.” Her expression clouded suddenly, “Ray, you don’t think Daddy will object, do you? I mean, it’s not as if we wanted to get married at once. At least I do. I want to get married tomorrow. But Peter’s dug his heels in. He insists that I have at least a year in London so that I won’t wonder what I’ve missed later on. He said that if I wouldn’t agree to that condition, he’d withdraw his proposal—sweet idiot. Oh, Ray, isn’t love the most hellish and heavenly—”
“Peter?” Rachel cut in. She was sitting bolt upright, and now, grasping the younger girl’s arm, she said urgently, “Did you say Peter?”
“Well, of course, silly.” Carola looked momentarily bewildered. “Who else would I be engaged to?”
For perhaps five seconds there was a look on Rachel’s face which Carola had never seen before—as if her sister was about to burst into tears, or hysterical laughter.
Instead, Rachel seized her in a boisterous hug. “Oh, Caro, I’m delighted. Congratulations, darling. Why on earth didn’t you wake me up and tell me last night? When are you going to bring Peter home for us to meet him properly? We must have a party. How about tonight? Oh, and we must telephone Dad. He’ll be staggered.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Carola said wryly, when she could get a word in. “Staggered, and then furious, most probably. Oh, glory—look at the time. I shall be late. Look, why not come over to Branford for lunch, and we can discuss the best method of getting Dad to approve. I shan’t be seeing Peter because he’s tied up with some foundation-laying ceremony. Meet me at two outside the staff door—okay?”
