by Sara Seale
“H’mm ... Kate seemed to have an idea—still, she could well be wrong.”
“Kate, like anyone else, can jump to wrong conclusions,” Victoria said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been working rather long hours lately, finishing the latest children’s epic, and imagination can carry over into real life without much distinction.”
“You’re a wise child, aren’t you, Victoria? I wonder how you came by your perceptions so young,” he said, looking down at her with a measure of wryness.
“Well, when one’s self-appointed mentor is never there to give counsel, I suppose one learns to seek it in oneself. Poor Mr. Brown! What a lot he’s missed by sitting on a horse so high that they’re both lost in the clouds,” she said, deliberately making light of the matter, and he smiled, his blue, observant eyes momentarily losing their thoughtful gravity.
“Yes, poor Mr. Brown!” he echoed with his mock solicitude. “What a strange, unloved individual he must be, if that is, he exists at all, outside that fertile imagination of yours.”
“Well, someone exists. I haven’t imagined the monthly cheques and the other evidences of a directing power,” Victoria retorted, and as if she had invoked some mysterious agency to give credence to her statement, a second delivery of roses arrived the very next day with an identical card attached.
This time the roses were pink, but their number no less extravagant, and Kate, observing the girl’s heightened colour and the tenderness with which she arranged her flowers, felt a shade uneasy. It was not fair of Mr. Brown, whoever he might be, to start playing games of this kind, she thought, and wondered for an unreasoning instant if the thing could be some kind of crazy hoax on the part of staid old Mr. Chappie.
“Well,” she said trying to sound flippant, “if this sort of thing goes on, you’ll be raising false hopes again of a happy-ever-after ending,” but Victoria smiled at her with that secret air of withdrawal and replied gently:
“Oh, no, Kate, I don’t live in a fairy tale any longer, but you’ll have to admit that, however disinterested this sort of gesture may be, it at least has the virtue of adding to one’s stature.”
“What a queer mixture you are,” Kate said, reassured but not wholly satisfied. “Sometimes you talk like a woman twice your age, but I get your point regarding the tonic action of floral tributes, whoever they may come from. You’re growing up, darling.”
“Oh, no, I grew up a long time ago, I think, Victoria said reflectively, and Kate sighed, aware that there might be a rather sad truth in this observation.
“Yes, perhaps you did,” she agreed, remembering her own childhood secure in the ties of a family united in love and wellbeing. There had not been the money to afford her the educational advantages bestowed upon Victoria, but neither had she been obliged to create images for herself in return for the chilly dispensations of an unknown benefactor.
Kate was to spend the following week-end in London which made quite a break in the household’s routine, but her book was finished, her publishers anxious to discuss a fresh contract, and John Squires had been urging a short change of scene for some time. There was no reason to worry about Timmy with Victoria in charge and himself within easy call, he had said.
Victoria drove Kate to the station, attending gravely to the last-minute instructions of an anxious mother, solemnly offering assurances in the matter of her own competence until they both began to giggle.
“I’m not naturally a fusspot,” Kate excused herself a trifle sheepishly, “but it’s such an event for me to leave Timmy just to go on the razzle that I suppose I’m reverting to type. Are you sure you won’t be lonely, Victoria? I wish there were a few nice young people you could ask over to Farthings to keep you company.”
“For heaven’s sake stop feeling guilty because you’re treating yourself to a holiday!” Victoria told her. “If you want to know the truth, I’m looking forward to playing mistress of the house in your absence and pretending Farthings belongs to me. I would be most intolerant of nice young people distracting me from my simple pleasures, so you can be thankful we don’t know any.”
So Kate went away satisfied and refrained from a warning not to build dreams round Farthings, a much more tangible fantasy than Mr. Brown, and Victoria drove home with a mounting sense of delight in the novel experience of being answerable to no one but herself for the next two days.
Elspeth had prepared a cold lunch for them set out in the shade of the patio, and afterwards, with Timmy settled on a lilo for his rest instead of being sent upstairs, Victoria wandered through the rooms of the house, enjoying her game of pretence. Here in the drawing-room filled with the elegant cabinets of china and bibelots treasured by that unknown maiden lady she would entertain friends after dinner; here in the cool flagged hall, masculine belongings would clutter up the brassbound chest, together with the discarded toys of children, and here in the white-panelled parlour she would sit and dream when she grew old and remember the follies of her youth with gentle amusement
‘There’s no call to run your finger along the mantelshelf for dust, for it was done the mom,” Elspeth’s voice observed disapprovingly behind her, and she jumped.
“I wasn’t thinking of dust,” she said, her mind still focussed on that other world. “I like to touch things for remembrance.”
“Are you thinking of leaving us, then? That’ll no be good news for Mrs. Allen to come back to. I’d thought you were different to those foreign hussies who’d up and go as soon as they’d unpacked their traps for want of a gay time.” Elspeth spoke in the uncompromising tones that Victoria first remembered and she said quickly:
“Oh, no! I was—was only storing up memories for much later on. Sometimes, you see, I pretend to myself just to make things seem real—like inventing personalities for Mr. Brown.”
Elspeth gave her a curious look and her eyes narrowed in dry comprehension.
“Making believe you’re mistress here and planning your alterations, I suppose,” she said, dismissing Mr. Brown whose existence she privately doubted, and Victoria, if a little astonished at being so promptly understood, hastened to disabuse her. “If that were true and not just a game, I wouldn’t alter one single thing. My plans were just make-believe too—imaginary domestic pictures, like children's toys scattered about and pipes and old coats belonging to the master of the house.”
“And who, pray, might he be, or hadn’t you got so far as that?”
“Of course I hadn’t. Only Farthings was real—the rest were ghosts—even me.”
“You’re forgetting mebbe that the place already has a master. There may come a time when Mr. Rab makes up his mind to settle here.”
“With a wife?”
“Aye, with a wife, if it’s not already too late for courting.” Elspeth, having delivered her rather ambiguous parting shot, left the room before she could be questioned further and Victoria stood, her fingers still absently caressing the smooth, weathered surface of the mantelshelf, wondering if it had been intended as a warning.
The day was too fine, however, to waste time indoors indulging in unrewarding fancies and the rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Timmy was on his best behaviour, joining happily in whatever game Victoria thought up to amuse him, and was clearly enjoying the novelty of being left in her care while his mother was away.
John Squires looked in for a few moments before dinner to enquire whether Victoria was lonely and Kate rang up from London to satisfy herself that all was well at home She had spent more than she should on clothes and had been squeezed into the latest triumph in expensive foundations which, though certainly doing something for one’s bulges, would be too agonising to wear to justify the expense, she said. She sounded young and excited, was just off to a theatre following a chance meeting with a man she hadn’t seen for years, and she hoped Victoria wasn’t finding her solitary state too dull. She rang off without prolonging the conversation and Victoria put down the receiver feeling rather staid and elderly.
; “You’ll have your turn when the right man comes along,” Elspeth said as she brought in the supper, evidently mistaking Victoria’s absent manner of imparting this information for disappointment. “Is it Mr. Rab who’s taking her to the play?”
“I don’t think so. She spoke of someone she hadn’t seen for years.”
“Then let’s hope it’s no’ that other one turning up like a bad penny,” Elspeth sniffed, and went away before curiosity could be satisfied.
Victoria did full justice to the meal, musing happily on the events of Kate’s day. She was pleased that Kate was not enjoying herself alone but secretly glad that Robert was not her escort.
When the supper things had been cleared she watched television for a while, but the programme did not accord with the peace and quiet of the summer night and she switched it off, together with the lamp, and curled up in a chair to float on a gentle tide of contentment and dreams which mingled so pleasurably with the scents and sounds drifting in from the garden.
She must have slept, for she had no conscious knowledge of hearing any sounds of a late arrival, but when she opened her eyes moonlight was flooding across her face through the uncurtained window and the tall figure of a man stood looking down at her.
“Well,” said Robert Farmer softly, “the Sleeping Princess in the flesh, and floodlit, too. I was, alas, a little tardy with the traditional awakening, but I can soon remedy that.”
He bent over her, his face etched in unfamiliar lines as the moonlight caught it. She was too bemused to do more than give him that slow, uncertain smile which sometimes seemed an echo of her secret dreams, and he kissed her very gently on the mouth.
“Well ...” he said as he straightened his long back “... that was a distinct improvement on your usual welcome. Perhaps I was wise to stop away.”
She struggled into a more upright position, uncurling her long legs from under her to allow her feet a more decorous place on the floor, and stretched out a hand to switch on the lamp beside her.
“Why didn’t you let us know?” she asked, blinking sleepily in the light.
“Because, as usual, I didn’t know myself until the last minute. Has Kate gone to bed already?”
She stared up at him, suddenly aware of the awkward timing of his visit. Kate was so seldom away from home that it would not have occurred to him to make sure beforehand.
“She’s not here. She’s gone to London for the weekend and won’t be back till Sunday evening,” she said, adding with genuine regret for a wasted journey: “Oh, Robert, I am sorry!”
He ran a hand absently over his chin as if he suspected he needed a shave, but looked amused rather than disappointed.
“Well, that may be unexpected but no setback to my plans. I’ll go and find Elspeth,” he said, and left the room to return very shortly with an Elspeth already divested of overall and shoes and evidently preparing for bed.
“What’s got into you, Mr. Rab?” she was saying a trifle crossly. “You’ve been later than this and not disturbed the household. You know very well your room’s always ready and there’s no need to announce your presence till the morn.”
“Well, since Mrs. Allen is away, I thought I’d better have your approval. The local hostelry would hardly take me in at this hour, and I don’t fancy a long drive back to London.” Robert spoke with an air of humouring possible opposition, but Elspeth merely looked surprised.
“And what has Mrs. Allen’s absence to do with that? You’ve no’ considered the proprieties when she lived alone, and I’m still here to make your visiting respectable,” she retorted. “If it’s Miss Toria having doubts, she can make her mind easy. We’re both of us paid employees here and not concerned with the habits of guests. I was just coming down to lock up, but perhaps you’ll do it as usual before going up.” She bade them both good night in matter-of-fact tones and retired upstairs once more, and Robert glanced quizzically at Victoria and asked with faint mockery: “Were you having doubts, Miss Toria?”
Victoria, who had harboured no such thoughts, being largely concerned with his disappointment at finding his hostess absent, replied with a certain asperity:
“Why should I? Kate will be sorry she missed you as you haven’t been down for some time, but if you don’t mind putting up with your own company, it’s no skin off my nose. As Elspeth pointed out just now, I’m a paid employee and am not concerned with the habits of guests.”
“How prim you sound, suddenly. Did Elspeth’s pointed reminder sting?” he asked teasingly, and caught a glimpse of that inviting smile which she hurriedly tried to suppress.
“Of course not,” she answered with amused indulgence. “She evidently thought I was having maidenly scruples and was putting me in my place. Would you like a nightcap, Robert, before you go up? You know where Kate keeps the whisky, so just help yourself.”
“You know,” he said, availing himself unhurriedly of the offer, “you’ve changed for the better since last we met. I was right when I said I was wise to stop away.”
“I hardly imagine you were influenced by anything other than pressure of work,” she replied, watching him run appreciative fingers over the delicately cut pattern of his Waterford tumbler and thinking what well-shaped hands he had.
“Don’t you? But then you’ve never credited me with much sensibility. Have you missed me?”
She thought of her remark to Kate which had met with such amusement and smiled reminiscently.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “You keep my wits up to scratch if nothing else. Kate is too calm and too kind to argue with to score a point and Timmy too young. You, on the other hand, are fair game since brow-beating witnesses is your stock in trade, and there’s no need to consider your feelings.”
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment or two before replying, then he said quite gently:
“Haven’t you lost that penchant for creating false images yet? A brow-beating counsel may have his feelings, even if it does serve as an excuse for working off old scores, but there comes a time when the game resolves into a one-sided contest. You are too intelligent, my dear, to cling so obstinately to old misconceptions.” She was aware not only of a disconcerting change in his attitude, but one of unexpected compliance in herself. From the moment she had awakened in the moonlight to find him bending over her, the old hostility had slipped away and she knew that although she might try to revive it by whipping up imagined grudges, the desire to sting him into retaliation would never be quite the same again.
“You sound,” she said at last, “as if you minded what I might think of you.”
“Certainly I mind. Verbal friction can be amusing and often stimulating, but I wouldn’t be human if I desired nothing more than that.”
“And do you?”
“Oh yes. I have, perhaps, a greater understanding of the real Victoria than you suppose. And, without wishing to sound complacent, you aren’t I think, as indifferent to me as you would like to believe.”
“I’ve never been that,” she said quickly, uncomfortably conscious of his attraction. “You’re hardly indifferent to a person you perpetually wrangle with.”
“True, but has it never struck you that that in itself should be a warning? There’s a very thin dividing line between hate and love, so we’re told.”
She met his quizzical gaze with a composure she was far from feeling. She was not so untutored as to confuse his meaning, but neither did she jump to romantic conclusions. She remembered Kate saying: Robert is fastidious and you are very much to his taste, I should say … This was seemingly not so unlikely as might have been supposed, but Victoria was no longer ruled by the fanciful flights of her adolescence, and Robert was probably no different from any other man in the matter of casual affairs.
“No, it’s not what you’re thinking,” he said suddenly, and there was a decided twinkle in his eye as he observed her betraying colour. “All the same I have a proposition to make. Shall we, just for this one week-end, forget our differences and try getting to know
one another instead? It’s unlikely such a suitable opportunity for better acquaintance will occur again.”
He put his half-finished drink on the mantelshelf and held out both hands to her, and she unhesitatingly gave him hers. His eyes were still quizzical but not cold at all as they searched her face and she found herself wondering why she had once built up such an unflattering image of a stranger she was unlikely to meet again.
“Am I to take it you’re in agreement?” he asked, watching her changing expressions and trying to guess at her thoughts. “I’d like the chance to show you a different Robert Fanner from the one you’ve created for yourself.”
“You said that when you rang up the night of my birthday,” she said. “Till then, ‘dream your dreams and fight your dragons’, you said. What did you mean?”
“Just that the time wasn’t ripe for the dragon’s transformation. Like all the sorely tried victims of spells in the best fairy-tales, I was still condemned to enchantment.”
“It sounds very odd for you to be talking like this—very odd and quite out of character,” she said frowning.
“That, young woman, you have no right to judge until you know me better. Even brow-beating barristers have their moments of fantasy,” he retorted and, releasing her hands rather abruptly, turned to pick up his glass again.
“What shall we do tomorrow?” he asked conversationally, firmly dismissing any further flights of fancy. At the same time he observed the lavish arrangements of roses which so far had escaped his notice, and whistled softly.
“Oho! More floral tributes! Has Mr. Brown been at it again?”
“Yes, he has,” Victoria answered a little shortly, wishing for the first time that she could have presented Robert with the existence of a genuine suitor.
“Dear me, how remarkable! Are you celebrating another birthday?”
“Of course not. The lawyers probably slipped up and forgot they’d been ordered the first time.”
“Very likely. Still, they’ve come at an opportune moment, for I, too, had notions of a belated celebration but no time, alas, to say it with flowers.”
