by Anne Weale
Janet decided to speak plainly. She and Peter had lived at Montrose for two years now. During their first six months there, Mrs. Gresham had still been alive. So Janet knew how unfairly Connie had treated her stepdaughter. She had not been deliberately unkind. But she had made use of Lucia without ever giving her anything in return. All her affection and interest had been lavished on Cathy. Lucia, the ever-reliable maid of all work, had been treated with a kind of patronizing tolerance which must often have been more hurtful than actual ill usage.
Now, Cathy was battening on her sister's good nature even more ruthlessly than Mrs. Gresham had done. And since Cathy wasn't likely to change, it seemed to Janet that the only solution to the problem was for Lucia to alter.
"You may not be unhappy - but that isn't the same as being happy," she told her frankly. "Look, why don't you go abroad this year? You know you've always wanted to travel, and you're free for six weeks in the summer. You could go all over the place, and it wouldn't necessarily cost you a lot."
"Oh, Janet, how can I? I couldn't leave Cathy here alone. You know what a hopeless cook she is, and she'd never be able to cope with the cleaning and everything."
"Well, I daresay the place would be in a bit of a shambles by the time you came back. But would it matter ? And as far as food goes, she could have her breakfasts and weekend meals with us. And we'd make sure she didn't throw any wild parties, or get up to any other mischief," said Janet persuasively. But even as she made the offer, she knew what Lucia's answer would be.
"It's very sweet of you, Janet," she said warmly. "But I couldn't possibly jaunt round Europe, leaving you with a new baby and Cathy on your hands. You'd end up a nervous wreck."
"Then why don't you both go?" Janet persisted. "Cathy hasn't made any plans for her fortnight, has she? You really should have a proper holiday this year, my dear. Day trips to the coast are all very well, but what you need is a complete break. It would do you the world of good."
"Cathy would only come if we went to some smart, expensive place, and she had a lot of new clothes to wear," Lucia said dryly. "She would hate staying at a cheap pension. Her idea of a foreign holiday would cost too much, and mine would bore her to tears."
"Well, it's high time she learnt to fit in with other people sometimes," Janet commented tartly. But she could see that a holiday abroad would be no fun for Lucia if Cathy Was constantly griping because they could not afford to mingle with the smart set.
*
The next day was Saturday. As she had alternate Saturdays off, Cathy lazed in bed until eleven. By the time she got up, Lucia had been out for the weekend shopping, ironed a pile of clean laundry, polished the large hall floor, cleaned all the windows inside, and done the cooking.
She was having five minutes' rest when Cathy drifted into the kitchen, in a green silk peignoir trimmed with ostrich feathers.
"Did you have a good time at the party?" she asked, getting up to put on the kettle.
Cathy shrugged. "Not bad. It was a super house, and there were some gorgeous clothes there. But the people were all rather old and dull."
"Mr. Curzon isn't exactly a youth."
Her sister went to the pantry to fetch the bottle of pure lemon juice which she drank every morning for the benefit of her complexion. Although she was so lazy in other ways, she never neglected her various beauty regimes.
"Oh, I don't mind older men," she said presently, wincing at the sourness of the juice. "It's older women who bore me. There was one woman there in the most super black dress. But she had a face like a bun, and great flabby arms, so it didn't do a thing for her. You can't wonder their husbands lose interest when they let their looks go. She must have been eighty round the beam."
"A good figure isn't everything," said Lucia. "Most people put on weight as they get older - men too."
"I think fat people are disgusting," said Cathy scornfully. "They ought to diet and exercise. I'm never going to lose my figure."
There were moments when her intolerance towards other people's imperfections exasperated Lucia so much that she wanted to shake her. But she said only, "You're lucky. You can eat what you like, and it doesn't make any difference to you."
Cathy perched on the edge of the kitchen table, and lit a cigarette. "Aren't you going to lecture me about Nico?" she enquired, with a challenging glance.
The kettle began to whistle. Lucia turned off the gas, and made two cups of instant coffee - black for Cathy, and with milk and sugar for herself. "Would it do any good?" she asked quietly, over her shoulder.
"No, it wouldn't," Cathy said sharply. "And the next time you carry on the way you did last night, I'll walk out of this dump, and find somewhere decent to live. I'm sick of being treated like a kid "
"So you've said before."
"This time I mean it. What gives you the right to dictate to me? You're only three years older than I am. You fuss and nag like some dreary old maiden aunt."
Lucia turned to face her. "Oh, Cathy, that isn't true! I've never dictated to you. If I fuss a little, it's only because I don't want to see you get hurt."
"Don't worry - I won't be. I can take care of myself."
"That's what Margaret thought, and look what happened to her," said Lucia, reminding her of a girl who had used to live further along the road.
"Margaret was a fool," retorted Cathy. "She fell in love. I won't make that mistake."
"What do you mean?"
Her sister sipped her coffee. "Being in love never lasts. It may be fine while it does, but it always wears off sooner or later. One day you snap out of it, and find you've got to spend the rest of your life being an unpaid nanny and housekeeper. Well, that's not going to happen to me. I'm going to marry for the things which do last - a nice house, lots of clothes, a good time."
Lucia stared at her, appalled by the ring of conviction in her voice.
"What's more, I think Nico may be just the man I've been looking for," her sister continued reflectively. She glanced at the kitchen clock, and slid off the table. "By the way, I shan't be in to lunch. Nico's picking me up at twelve-fifteen, and we're driving out to the Hind's Head at Bray."
And she sauntered out of the room to go and get ready.
After she had eaten her solitary lunch, Lucia lit the fire in the study. This was where she always spent Saturday afternoons during the winter. Sometimes she read, or sewed. Sometimes she curled up on the big blank leather chesterfield, and remembered other afternoons, long ago, when her father had sat beside her, telling her about all the places he had seen since he was last at home.
Malcolm Gresham had been a journalist. He had made his name as a war correspondent and, after the war, had travelled the world from Kitimat to Kalgoorlie. In the course of these peregrinations, he had fallen under the spell of the Greek islands. It had been his plan, when Lucia had finished her schooling, to give up being a newspaperman, and return to the islands for good. He had been tired of living out of a suitcase, and of the ephemeral nature of his work. He had wanted to settle down, perhaps to write books.
Providing he continued to support her financially, Connie Gresham had not cared if she never saw him again. It was only his love for Lucia, and her need of a settled home while she was growing up, which had prevented him from cutting adrift years before. Cathy was all Connie's child, and had nothing of her father in her.
Perhaps his plan would have been realized. Perhaps they would have lived on Hydra, or Mykonos, or one of the other islands in the Aegean. But, when Lucia was seventeen, Malcolm Gresham had been killed. It was ironic that, having come through wars, riots and various natural disasters without a scratch, he should have met his end in a car smash between London Airport and his home.
However, on this particular afternoon, it was not of her father, or of what-might-have-been, that Lucia thought as she sat gazing into the fire. The problem of Cathy had taken on a new urgency since her sister's extraordinary statement just before she went off to dress for her lunch date.
H
ad she meant what she said? Was it really her intention to marry not a man, but a way of life? Of one thing Lucia was sure. She had met Nicholas Curzon only once but, on the strength of that encounter, she would be prepared to stake a year's salary that there was no thought of marriage in his head. He was merely amusing himself.
About four o'clock, she put more coal on the fire, and made a pot of tea and some toast. It was already dusk, so she drew the velour curtains, and sat watching the firelight flicker over the rows of leather-bound volumes lining the walls. She had not slept well the night before, and presently she began to feel drowsy. Swinging her legs on to the chesterfield, she decided to have a short nap.
She must have been asleep for some time. When she awoke, the fire was dying down again. She yawned, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"Good evening," said a voice from the shadows.
Lucia nearly jumped out of her skin.
"I'm sorry - I didn't mean to startle you." Nicholas Curzon switched on the table lamp beside the chair where he was sitting, and tossed the end of a cigarette into the fire.
For an instant, Lucia could hardly believe her eyes. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"Cathy came home to change her clothes. She told me to wait for her in here. You were sleeping so peacefully, it seemed a pity to disturb you," he explained, smiling at her. And then, as if he were an old friend of the family, entitled to make himself at home, he rose to replenish the fire.
In the moments while his back was turned, Lucia tugged down her skirt, and smoothed her rumpled hair. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was nearly seven o'clock. She had been sleeping for more than two hours. Not that it mattered. She had no plans for the evening. What did vex her was how long this man had been watching her sleep.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, "Don't Worry-your mouth wasn't open, and you weren't snoring. You did twitch once or twice. Were you dreaming?"
"I - I don't remember," she said brusquely. "What time did you and Cathy come in?"
"About twenty minutes ago. This is a very pleasant room. May I look at your books ?"
"If you wish."
His mouth twitched slightly at the stiff formality of her tone, and he gave her a quizzical look, but did not say anything. As he turned to go to the bookshelves, he noticed a watercolour above the fireplace. "Hello... where did this come from?"
"It belonged to my father. It's a painting of the port at Hydra, one of the Greek islands."
"Yes, I recognize the place."
"You've been to Hydra?" Unbidden interest kindled in her.
"Several times. Have you?"
She shook her head. "I might have gone, if Father hadn't been killed. He liked the islands so much, he was planning to live there."
"Did he also like the Greeks ?" he asked keenly.
"Yes, very much. Why? - Don't you?"
His dark eyes gleamed with amusement. "I am half Greek myself, Miss Gresham." He smiled, and touched his hooked nose. "I inherited this from my mother's father, Nico Tyropoulos. Don't tell me my fine Greek nose has escaped your notice."
"I did think you weren't entirely English," she admitted.
"I am almost entirely Greek," he replied, rather dryly. "I have been brought up as an Englishman, but I am still Greek in my instincts. Does that allay your qualms, or increase them?"
"I don't know what you mean," she said warily.
"You don't like me, do you ?"
"I scarcely know you, Mr. Curzon."
"You don't like me," he repeated. This time it wasn't a question, but a flat statement.
Lucia began to simmer. Usually, it took a good deal of provocation to bring her to boiling point. But this man's mere presence annoyed her. "Is there any reason why I should?"
He had taken a book from the shelves, and was about to open it. Without glancing at her, he said carelessly, "No - but I should be interested to know why you appear to have taken an immediate and powerful dislike to me."
She flushed. "You aren't obtuse, Mr. Curzon. It must be perfectly obvious to you."
He leafed briefly through the book he was holding, then replaced it on the shelf. Coming back to the fireside, he said, "You can't keep your sister on a leading rein for ever, you know. If she hasn't learnt sense by now, it's unlikely that she ever will."
Lucia lifted her chin, and gave him a sparkling look. "If you had a sister of twenty, would you approve of... of her association with someone of your age?"
"It would depend on the man," he replied. "But I should certainly not be so unwise as to show my disapproval, Miss Gresham. That would be asking for trouble."
"You would do something, I presume?" she said, with a snap.
"Not unless I had reason to believe that the man was a thorough scoundrel. Is that your reading of my character?" His mouth took on a wry twist. "I may not be an Adonis, but do I look such a deep-dyed villain to you?"
His teasing goaded her into saying, "You can hardly expect me to think you a trustworthy person."
His eyebrows lifted. "Why not?"
"You told me yourself that you only met Cathy a week ago. Last night—" She broke off, hot colour sufficing her face.
"Last night I kissed her," he supplied. "Do you disapprove of kissing, Miss Gresham?"
Lucia's thin hands clenched. "Yes, I do-when it doesn't mean anything."
"What should it mean?" he asked mockingly.
She said, with anger and scorn, "I doubt if you'd understand if I told you, Mr. Curzon. I don't think we speak the same language."
"Possibly not. But I think Cathy and I have a pretty fair understanding," he answered negligently.
"Cathy pretends to be worldly - she isn't really. Why can't you leave her alone?" she exclaimed, exasperated.
"Wouldn't that be rather rude when I have already asked her to have dinner with me?" He took out his cigarette case, and made to offer it to her. But before she could wave it away, he forestalled her by saying, "Oh, no - I forgot. You have no vices, Miss Gresham."
Lucia felt then that, if she stayed with him a moment longer, her temper might run away with her. She had already mishandled the conversation. Instead of discouraging him, she had probably egged him on to pursue Cathy even more diligently.
Picking up the tea-pot, which she had left on the tiled hearth, she placed it on the tray. Nicholas Curzon moved to open the door for her. But while she intended to leave the room without speaking again, he had something more to say.
Holding the door-knob, so that she could not escape until he let her, he said, "You know, Miss Gresham, it's one of the curious quirks of human nature that the most censorious people are those with hidden weaknesses. You seem very anxious to protect your sister from the hazards which beset pretty girls. Is it possible, perhaps, that you envy her . . . opportunities? Naturally you'll deny it- but I can't help wondering if, under that strait-laced exterior, you would like to be soundly kissed by someone untrustworthy."
Afterwards, Lucia was sure that, if she hadn't been holding the tray, she would not have been able to stop herself slapping his face. As it was, she. stood quivering with fury until, with that maddening half-smile, he opened the door.
She was still seething when, ten minutes later, Cathy came into the kitchen. "I don't know what time I'll be back, so don't wait up for me. I suppose you're going upstairs to watch TV with the Sanders' ?"
"Possibly," Lucia said shortly.
"How do I look?" Cathy asked.
She was wearing the iridescent evening top, and a long, narrow silk-jersey skirt, with a slit at the back to allow her to walk in it. Her hair was piled high, and she had on her matched blonde hairpiece, and ear-rings from the Dior boutique in Conduit Street. Together, the switch and the ear-rings had cost more than her sister had spent on herself in a year.
Yet as she stood there, posed like a model girl, Lucia found it impossible to grudge her these expensive adornments. She was so enchantingly pretty, it gave one pleasure just to look at her.
&n
bsp; "You look lovely, Cathy," she said, with sincere admiration.
"I wish I had a fur wrap instead of this thing," her sister said, putting on her evening coat. "We're going to Nico's flat, and then dining at the Hilton."
"To his flat? Oh, Cathy—" Lucia started.
The younger girl cut her short. "Don't flap. He has to change, hasn't he?"
"But you won't go in with him, will you? Surely you can wait in the car?"
"Oh, Lucia, don't be so old-fashioned," Cathy retorted impatiently. "Of course I shall go in with him. I want to see what it's like. But you needn't worry - I shan't let him take me back there, after we've dined. I'm not such a fool as to fall for the 'nightcap' routine."
"I don't think you ought to go in at all," said Lucia. "He may be planning to stay there."
"No, he isn't. He booked a table at the Hilton from where we had lunch. Anyway, he has a housekeeper, so I can always scream for help if he does try to pounce," her sister added flippantly.
Lucia was not amused. "She may not live in. She may not be there in the evenings."
"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Cathy expostulated. "What an old Mrs. Grundy you are. Mummy never used to fuss like you do. She was much more broad-minded and modern.
Anyway, I haven't time for an argument. Nico is waiting. See you tomorrow. 'Bye." She hurried out, leaving a faint fragrance of 'Jolie Madame' behind her.
About eight, Peter Sanders came downstairs, and tapped on the study door. "Coming up to watch the box, Lucia?"
"I don't think so, thanks, Peter. Not tonight."
"You look fed up. Anything wrong?"
Lucia shook her head. "No, I'm just a bit tired, that's all. I think I'll have a bath, and go to bed early."
"Are you sure? There's a good show on later, and we've got some salami and pickled onions." He smiled at her. He was a big man, tall and broad, with a kind, easygoing personality, and endearingly sticking-out ears.
Lucia smiled back at him. But, for some unaccountable reason, she felt like bursting into tears.
