The Girl From Over the Sea

by Valerie K. Nelson

  She turned and ran up the two flights of stairs to the room which she shared with Rita. Her sister followed more slowly.

  ‘I’m glad you told him where he got off,’ Rita said with immense satisfaction. ‘He was steamed up about you, though. You might have been his favourite girl-friend the way he was pacing up and down asking Rick and me why you’d gone to Exeter and why you hadn’t gone in the Mini. But, Les, what really happened?’

  Lesley was, shrugging herself out of her leather coat. ‘Exactly what I said,’ she remarked. ‘The Exeter coach was late because it got behind a huge transporter which took up all the road, and so the other bus had gone.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get a taxi or ring up here for someone to fetch you?’

  Lesley shrugged and turned as Jennifer Trevendone knocked at the door. ‘Are you all right, Lesley?’ she asked nervously. ‘Mrs. Piper is making sandwiches and coffee for you. We aren’t really callous, you know. Just ... just ... suspicious because we don’t know you very well. And though I don’t really excuse Blake’s high-handed manner he really was anxious.’

  ‘If it’s the Trevendone family he’s bothered about, then he has no cause to be anxious about Lesley,’ Rita said, and with a significant look walked out of the room.

  Lesley’s expression was worried. ‘It was bad luck that you missed Sorrel,’ Jennifer went on, preparing to follow Rita.

  Lesley shrugged. ‘It certainly was,’ she remarked dryly. ‘Travelling all that round-about way back by coach isn’t my idea of an evening’s entertainment.’

  Jennifer opened the door. ‘Here’s your supper. Did you want it up here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lesley shortly as Rick brought in the tray.

  As she drank her second cup of coffee, Lesley said thoughtfully, ‘Rick, what’s wrong with Rita?’

  The boy hunched up his shoulders. ‘We had a row. I said I bet that Sorrel woman had let you down and Rita got on her high horse and stuck up for Sorrel. She’s completely soppy about her because she lets her groom her horse. Rita hangs on her every word. You’d think she’s never ridden herself. They may have been rough, tough little Outback ponies, but they’re every bit as difficult to manage as these fancy blood stock animals the slave-master goes in for.

  ‘And by the way, Les, he really was worried about you.’

  ‘Nice of him,’ said Lesley acidly. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  She had thought that she would sleep soundly after that exhausting day, but she lay wakeful for a long time, worrying about Rita whose quiet even breathing she could hear from the bed on the other side of the room. Rita had so little to say to her these days and when she did speak she was often rude or offhand. And Ricky—would he ever be weaned from this ambition of his to join a group and become a popular singer? Once she had hoped he would become reconciled to life here on the estate, but what opportunity was there for him here now? Sadly she recalled what Rita had said to Jennifer, not in so many words but by implication. That Lesley wasn’t a Trevendone!

  As to Blake Defontaine, it was just his intolerable habit of interfering in the lives of everybody who was a Trevendone—even the girl from over the sea.

  He walked into her office in the New Manor House next morning with his usual loose-limbed arrogance and stood in front of her desk eyeing her with a rapier-like glance.

  ‘I want a promise from you,’ he said abruptly. ‘That you’ll never walk back from St Benga Town again after dark, unescorted.’

  Lesley shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose the occasion will ever arise again, Mr. Defontaine.’

  ‘A promise,’ he said insistently.

  She nodded. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘Mrs. Lang is very upset,’ he went on. ‘She can’t understand what happened that she missed you.’

  ‘No,’ commented Lesley dryly, and .looked at the wad of notes he was carrying. ‘Shall I start on those right away, Mr. Defontaine?’

  ‘Yes, do that,’ he said, gave her downbent head an exasperated look and went out of the room.

  As she walked round to the old Manor House for her lunch break, Lesley met Dominic who had been out when she had arrived back on the previous night. He had evidently heard what had happened and spoke about it directly he saw her.

  ‘Look, Lesley,’ he said, and for once his face was serious, ‘Sorrel wouldn’t let you down on purpose. Jen is sure you think she did.’

  ‘I haven’t said so.’ Lesley’s voice was suddenly ragged. Sorrel! Sorrel! How tired she was of this concern for the girl, first from Blake and now from Dominic.

  ‘Look, Dominic, do me a favour, will you?’ she asked, and managed to rake up a smile. ‘Forget it. I’m sick of the whole subject.’

  ‘As you like,’ he returned rather huffily.

  But Sorrel never once mentioned the matter to Lesley nor thought fit to make either an explanation or an apology, and Lesley on her part was determined not to speak of it again.

  Lesley’s primary reason for buying a new pair of boots had been the point-to-point in which Blake and Sorrel and Dominic were competing. Even Jennifer was riding, though not one of the Trevendone horses.

  The meeting was held at Cumballick, about twenty miles’ drive from Trevendone Manor. It was a bright, gusty day in early March, still within the month of Lesley’s time of probation, with a feeling of spring in the air and the daffodils blooming everywhere in the flower beds of the cottages of Cornish stone, lending them a glamour which till now their rather grim greyness had lacked in the eyes of the family from over the sea.

  Rita was plainly out of humour because they were going only as spectators.

  ‘But there aren’t any spare mounts at Trevendone, Rita, you know that,’ Lesley said soothingly. ‘You heard Jennifer say she was riding one of the Drews’ horses from Tresparret Farm. Besides, you’ve had no experience in jumping.’

  ‘So much for our coming to a life of luxury in Cornwall,’ Rita muttered, scornfully. ‘At least there was always an Outback pony to ride when we were at home.’

  ‘You weren’t all that keen on riding back home,’ Ricky pointed out. ‘In fact in the last year or two you’d practically given it up. As to this meeting, you’d only to say the word and we needn’t have come. It isn’t my idea of an entertaining Saturday watching Cornish high society perform at a steeplechase. I’d much sooner be with the boys at Penpethic Harbour.’

  Lesley frowned slightly at the mention of that place. ‘It’s a good opportunity for you both to meet friends of the Trevendones in the county. By now I should imagine that it’s got around that we’re living at the Manor, and people may be wondering what we’re like.’

  ‘As if any of us really cared!’ commented Ricky contemptuously.

  There was a bigger crowd at the meeting than Lesley had imagined. She had thought in terms of the riders and just a few spectators, but by the time they arrived a good number of people were milling around and the tote seemed to be doing excellent business.

  They found Dominic almost as soon as they had parked the Mini and he took them into the members’ enclosure where a buffet lunch was being served.

  ‘Jennifer is with Bob Drew, but Sorrel and Blake are around somewhere. Oh, there they are.’ He began pushing his way through the crowd, people around him slapping him on the shoulder and wishing him luck. He was obviously very well known and very popular.

  Outside on the course, the rich Cornish accent had been noticeable, but in here what Ricky still referred to as ‘Limey talk ‘was more apparent.

  ‘I’m only an also ran,’ Dominic was protesting to one elderly lady. ‘Blake has really good mounts and he’s favourite, in his two events, but in my opinion the really fast race will be the Ladies. Sorrel Lang has a superb horse and so have Carol Williams and Griselda Knowles. It’ll be a close finish. Griselda is favourite, but I’m backing Sorrel.’

  Lesley smiled rather wistfully. Dominic seldom missed an opportunity of flirting with her, but she had guessed at their first meeting that he had
no real interest in any girl except Sorrel Lang. But Sorrel...

  Lesley bit her lip and told herself it was no business of hers.

  The twins, having already said they were ravenous, had pressed on towards the buffet and, Lesley, having lost Dominic, tried to force her way through the crush in search of the twins.

  ‘You’d better let me lend you a shoulder,’ a voice said above her ear, and she turned to And Blake Defontaine beside her.

  ‘I’m really with Dominic,’ Lesley said repressively, ‘but now I’ve lost him and the twins.’ She shivered, wondering why she suddenly felt so very cold.

  ‘The twins are tucking in at the buffet,’ he said, smiling down at her, and just now his grey eyes were brilliant. Obviously the sweet smell of success was in his nostrils, Lesley thought. She had just heard Dominic say he was the favourite in both the races he had entered. ‘They’re all right. I was with them a moment ago. Now what would you like? You look cold. You’d better have hot coffee with rum. You’re not used to this chilly weather.’

  ‘I’ll find the twins. Please don’t bother about me, Mr. Defontaine,’ Lesley said repressively.

  But he either didn’t hear or didn’t choose to, still keeping his hand firmly on her arm as he made his way through the throng.

  Soon they were at the counter, but nowhere near the twins who had evidently bought what they wanted and retreated to the back of the marquee.

  Lesley was still shivering. She hoped to goodness she wasn’t getting the same sort of virus as Rita had had last month. Rita had not seemed her usual self since, though the doctor had pronounced her fit.

  Blake tipped some of the rum into the coffee. ‘Now drink that. I’ve put in only half, so it won’t make you tipsy. You’re not teetotal, are you?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ she murmured ungraciously, ‘but I don’t care for spirits.’ Her eyes wandered uneasily. ‘Dominic will wonder where I am.’

  ‘Will he?’ Blake looked sardonic but made no further comment. He stayed beside her until she had drunk the coffee, laughing at the way she grimaced as she did so. Next he pushed a Cornish pasty in front of it. ‘Now eat all of it,’ he ordered. Then with a glance at his watch. ‘I’ll have to go now. I’m riding in the first race. Don’t stay to the end if you still feel cold. If the twins don’t want to leave, I’ll bring them back with the horse box. There’ll be plenty of room for them up in front.’

  ‘But won’t you have to bring Sorrel—Mrs. Lang back?’ As soon as it was out, Lesley could have bitten her tongue for asking such a question.

  Blake raised an eyebrow. ‘Dominic will look after her,’ he said.

  He left her then and Lesley realised she hadn’t wished him luck. Her eyes followed him thoughtfully. What had he been trying to say just now—that Sorrel had no particular claim on him? Lesley thought that Sorrel would have put it differently, and a snatch of conversation she overheard later bore out that view.

  ‘I would have thought young Miss Lang would be the favourite in the ladies’ race.’

  ‘She’s more than that in the Defontaine stakes,’ the young man grinned down at the girl who had made the first remark. ‘She’s the winner. They’re waiting a decent interval of a few months before announcing it, but they’re to be married some time in the summer.’

  Lesley moved on. So that was it. They didn’t want a formal announcement just yet. Well, they were well matched, both ruthless, unpleasant people. She found them equally hateful and felt even more convinced of the hatefulness of one of them when later in the afternoon Sorrel, who rode with the same reckless abandon as she drove her big car, was thrown at the second fence. Lesley didn’t see what had happened, but when she heard that it was one of the Trevendone horses which had fallen she hurried round the course and was in time to see the St John Ambulance men carrying the stretcher into the first aid tent. Even now she wasn’t sure whether the rider was Sorrel or Jennifer. By the time she had pushed her way through the crowds several minutes had elapsed, but eventually she reached the first aid tent and pushed back the flap.

  It was Sorrel who had fallen, but she was already sitting up pushing her long black hair away from her face. The St John Ambulance attendants had stepped back and beside Sorrel were two men in riding clothes, Blake and Dominic, one on either side.

  Lesley stood silently just inside the tent wondering how she could retreat before anyone saw her. Sorrel would welcome no solicitude or offer of help from her, particularly while she had Blake standing beside her and Dominic bending over her.

  And then Sorrel’s voice rang out in irritation. ‘Dominic, for the last time will you stop fussing, and go away. You get on my nerves!’

  She pushed the young man from her and then, struggling to her feet, she seemed to melt into the other man’s arms. ‘Oh, Blake darling, I’m all right. I really am.’

  Lesley shrank back against the canvas as Dominic turned and strode towards the tent flap. She didn’t want him to see her, but she really needn’t have worried, for he walked like a blind man, his face stricken.

  Lesley followed him out silently. Poor Dominic!

  Although she had lost all interest in the meeting, Lesley stayed to the end and collected the twins in the Mini when most other people were leaving. Sorrel, apparently none the worse for her fall, was with Blake and presumably would return with him.

  Ricky was in high spirits and began recounting his winnings as Lesley put the Mini in gear and turned for home. ‘Blake gave us some tips and I’d the gumption to follow them,’ he said jubilantly. ‘Rita was silly enough to back Sorrel in the Ladies’ Plate and that didn’t do her much good. How did you make out, Les?’

  ‘Badly,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘I stuck pins in and the pins didn’t seem to know about winners.’

  ‘Didn’t you even back Blake?’ he asked incredulously. ‘He was a cert in both his races.’

  ‘So it would seem!’ And then in a surprised voice, ‘When did he give you those tips?’

  ‘At the lunch counter. He stood us our lunch—a jolly good one, didn’t he, Rita?’

  ‘And it nearly choked me,’ Rita said morosely.

  Ricky laughed uproariously. ‘You gave the best exhibition of choiring I’ve ever seen,’ he remarked. ‘You didn’t leave a crumb.’

  Rita’s lips twitched into a smile, but she shrugged, ‘Well, he’s a bighead all the same. Fancy tipping himself to win and saying he’d got two exceptional horses just to tone his conceit down, as it were. And then saying he didn’t think Sorrel would pull it off and that we ought to back that Griselda Knowles on Honeycombe.’

  ‘Well, if you’d accepted his advice you’d be a pound or two better off,’ Rick pointed out. ‘After all, he did win, and that Griselda too. She’s a far better rider than Sorrel. You could tell that even before Sorrel came off.’

  That started a mangle to which Lesley only half-listened. She was surprised that Blake had approached the twins and she wasn’t sure what was behind it. She smiled wryly. One thing seemed almost inevitable. Everybody at the Manor had been anxious for trophies to be brought back and the person who was bringing back two was not one of the Trevendones but Blake Defontaine.

  Did he ever lose? she wondered. Tonight he would return with the trophies and the girl, while Dominic who had told someone in her hearing that he would be an ‘also ran ‘had been exactly that. And Sorrel had dismissed him and said that Ire got on her nerves.

  And so on a sunny March morning just a month after she had started work in this small office, Lesley stood by the window looking out but not really seeing the green lawns nor the daffodils that had ‘taken the winds of March with beauty’.

  She was remembering the weeks that had passed and wondering what Blake would say when he came to tell her whether she was to go or to stay.

  She knew perfectly well that when she had started work that day in February he had been suspicious of her motives and sceptical of her ability. He had never once tried to make any task easier for her. The notes she had
had to type for him wore technical in the extreme and his handwriting was atrocious. Whenever, in the first day or two, she had had to refer to him he had been either curt or sarcastic, but gradually as she became accustomed to the terms and to the writing she had been able to work alone. She was a swift and accurate typist and though he had never given her a word of praise, neither had there been any complaints.

  The hotel would not open till Easter, but with the tutoring she had received from little Mrs. Thomas she believed she could cope with that. So now it was for the slave-master himself to decide whether she was to stay.

  As he came sauntering into the little office she turned, feeling almost guilty that she wasn’t working. But she had finished the last batch of notes and the hotel clerical work at the moment was minimal. All rooms were completely booked for the high season, so she had little to do except type the occasional letter accepting a booking for a late season holiday or answer the telephone to say that no accommodation was available.

  He was carrying a sheaf of papers which, he placed on her desk and then stared at her with his usual craggy expression. ‘I can guess what you’re going to say,’ he remarked in a quiet voice. ‘The month of trial is up. Well?’

  Lesley faced him, her hands behind her back so that he should not see them trembling. As usual he was forcing her to speak first, make a fool of herself, possibly, and then he would devastate her with a few sarcastic words.

  ‘I’m willing to go on working here,’ she stammered, ‘at least until the hotel closes at the beginning of October.’

  ‘That’s remarkably considerate of you,’ he answered, but there was no warmth in his voice and there was a preoccupied look on his face. ‘But remember I shall still want part of your time for typing my research notes. For that, you’ll have to work down at the Lodge, in the small office adjoining my lab. It’s a nuisance, because I like to keep the Lodge completely separate from everything connected with Trevendone Manor, but in the circumstances I can’t do anything else.’