Harbinger of Spring

by Hilda Pressley

  He shook his head. ‘You know perfectly well you’re taking the midday train home tomorrow, and since you’re staying in Norwich overnight—’

  ‘Oh, bother.’ She turned to Sara. ‘How far is it to your mill?’

  ‘About a quarter of an hour by river.’

  Eric Seymour cut in, ‘Couldn’t she see over the Mill tonight, Hugh? I know it’ll make it late for you both, but—’

  ‘I don’t mind that—and I know Rosa doesn’t. It’s Sunday tomorrow anyway. If Sara doesn’t mind being kept up late—’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ Sara said. ‘This is one time we’ll all be night birds.’

  A quickstep was played next and Sara danced it with her father. After that it seemed to be accepted that he should take Rosamond for any dances she wanted to learn and that Sara should dance with Hugh. There were times when she had tiny pricks of conscience as she savoured to the full the sensation of Hugh’s hand on her waist and his hand in hers, then she would tell herself not to be silly. After all, they were only dancing.

  Then as if someone had advanced all the clocks, the evening was suddenly over. Sara stopped to change shoes for wellingtons, and as she did so she glanced at Rosa’s fragile evening shoes.

  ‘Good gracious, I forgot the little walk to the quay. You’re going to get your feet terribly cold and wet.’

  Rosamond smiled. ‘I expect Hugh will carry me. He usually does under these circumstances,’ she said casually.

  ‘That’s—nice.’

  Sara imagined herself being lifted up in Hugh’s strong arms and envied the other girl with all her heart.

  They were joined by her father and Hugh and a few seconds later all four were in the club’s outer porch overlooking the quay. Sara heard the sound of running water which indicated that a thaw had set in. She stepped off the porch and gave one backward glance. Hugh was in the act of swinging Rosamond up into his arms. She looked away again swiftly, a feeling almost of pain in her heart. Did she want a man so much? she asked herself fiercely.

  Her father half a pace behind her, she hurried to the launch, telling herself she must open the canopy quickly so that Hugh would not feel the strain of his burden.

  Hugh tumbled Rosamond into the stern along with Sara’s father, then he slipped the wet mooring lines. Sara had taken the wheel, but Hugh said imperiously, ‘Move over, Sara. I’ll drive.’

  He flicked on the searchlight and silvered the black waters with a narrow lane. Not wanting to argue, Sara had little option but to do as he said, and it seemed no time before he turned into the dyke to the Mill. She felt very conscious of Hugh close beside her. Why was it she felt like this about him, so conscious of him the whole time? She would have to stop it. It would be disastrous to fall in love with him. She mustn’t let herself. She mustn’t.

  When they came to the Mill quay, Hugh was out first and having secured the moorings he stretched a hand to Sara and almost hauled her on to the quay.

  She laughed tremulously. ‘There’s no chance of falling backward when you take hold!’

  ‘I haven’t lost a passenger yet, and I’m not beginning now.’

  ‘You’d better pay the same attention to the other passengers while I open the front door.’

  She sloshed through the rapidly thawing snow, feeling that she had drunk more champagne than she should have among other things. No sooner had she opened the door and switched on lights than Rosamond was at her side looking about her eagerly. Sara took her cloak and laughed,

  ‘Explore while I put the kettle on.’

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course. Father and Hugh will be in in a moment and I expect they’ll be only too glad to conduct you.’

  She went into the kitchen and a few seconds later she heard the front door close, then a heavier tread than Rosamond’s overhead. The kettle was nearly boiling when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Hugh.

  ‘Had enough of looking into rooms?’ she asked as casually as possible, adding: ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, please. I’m afraid Rosamond’s more for tea. Witch’s brew, she calls it.’

  ‘That’s fine, so is Father. I favour coffee at times like this.’

  He took cups and saucers from the dresser and placed them on the tea trolley.

  ‘I notice you’re not using the best bedroom. Why is that?’

  She felt confused for a moment, then answered quickly. ‘I suppose it’s because I can’t help regarding myself as a sort of caretaker.’ Then she went on brightly, ‘I don’t think the caretaker should use the best bedroom, do you?’

  ‘If you were just a caretaker I’d give you a very definite no. But you’re not, are you?’

  ‘I am in a way. I’m going to lease the place. I’m afraid I just have to.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear it. It seemed to me that you were growing into it, becoming a part of it. Isn’t there—’

  He broke off as Rosamond came running into the kitchen.

  ‘Sara, it’s absolutely super,’ she enthused. ‘Do you think I could see over the Mill now, too?’

  With a pang Sara noticed the indulgent way he looked at her eager face. He was certainly very much in love with her and Sara could not help wishing she were not quite so sweet, so charming.

  ‘If Hugh will take you,’ she said. ‘Make her put my wellingtons on, Hugh, and the anorak off the hallstand. The Mill will be very cold.’

  As they went out of the kitchen her father came in. Sara thought he was looking very tired now. She switched off the kettle and went to him.

  ‘We’ll go into the sitting room for a few minutes and you can put your feet up.’

  ‘Well, they are aching a bit,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose I’m not as young as I thought I was.’

  ‘Nonsense, Father. You’ve been going at it all day as if you were a schoolboy.’

  He made himself comfortable on the couch, then said thoughtfully: ‘Hugh’s a very nice fellow. Level headed, too. But I think that girl’s much too young for him. Not his type at all, in fact.’

  ‘Opposites are often attracted to each other,’ she answered ruefully.

  ‘I suppose so. But there must be at least fifteen years between them. That’s a big enough gap now, but in another twenty years it will be worse He’ll be content to stay at home—she’ll want to gad about. Marriage won’t change them all that much.’

  He yawned and half closed his eyes. Sara got quietly to her feet and went into the kitchen to make some sandwiches. Perhaps her father was right, she mused, but if two people really loved each other, did age or anything else matter? She had just about finished her task when the back door opened and Rosamond ran in closely followed by Hugh.

  ‘It’s super,’ she cried. ‘All those steps and that queer machinery. If I had it I’d live right at the top and spend hours and hours looking through those tiny windows.’

  Sara managed to get the tea and the coffee made and carried into the sitting room, but the next hour was like living with a whirl-wind. Rosamond moved about the room as if she was on springs and asked question after question without bothering to wait for the answers, but finally Hugh stopped her.

  ‘Rosa, it’s time to go. We’re wearing Sara and Eric out and I’ve got to get you to Norwich.’

  ‘Well, that’s not very far.’

  He smiled, but went into the hall for her cloak. Eric Seymour also got up, but Sara spoke in a very firm voice, ‘You’re not coming out again. You’re more than half asleep.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, please. I can manage perfectly well.’

  Not much more than ten minutes later, Sara was coming alongside the darkened staithe of the Country Club.

  ‘Will you be able to see the way to your car, Hugh?’ she asked.

  ‘Easily. It’s a good path, right around to the front of the place.’

  He pushed the canopy back, stepped out and extended a hand to Rosamond on the stern seat while he crouched low to keep the launch alongs
ide. Then he said in a quiet voice,

  ‘Goodnight, Sara, and thank you for being so sweet to Rosamond—and everything.’

  She turned her head slightly to answer him, but before she realized his intention he leaned forward and kissed her half parted lips. Her heart raced, but he straightened immediately and the next moment the launch was drifting away from the quay.

  Sara watched him carrying Rosa along the path to the car park, then as he disappeared around a corner she put the lever to ahead and circled around.

  CHAPTER VII

  For the whole of Sunday, a day of rain and strong winds, Sara was torn with a mixture of emotions. She had wakened that morning, not with the thought of threatened bankruptcy hanging over her, but with the knowledge that she was in love with Hugh. Just why it had not been brought home to her before, she was at a loss to understand. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than a goodnight kiss, of course, a token of thanks for an enjoyable evening, for hospitality and her running them back to where Hugh’s car was parked, but she wished with all her heart that he had not done so. It had awakened in her an emotion which never should have been awakened.

  The rousing of her love for him and the certain knowledge of its hopelessness was like having a life sentence pronounced on her, and this was only the first of the unnumbered days which would reach into an eternity of misery. ,

  But Monday morning came, and with it a telephone call summoning her father back to London. She was sorry to see him depart, she knew she would miss him, but in another sense was glad to see him go before her feelings overwhelmed her. Now she sat in Mr. Carrigon’s waiting room, prepared to unload on to him the peculiar business of the threatened bankruptcy proceedings.

  The lawyer apologized for keeping her waiting and smiled.

  ‘You really should have made an appointment, you know.’

  ‘Yes, but it must be all a stupid mistake. I’m being threatened with bankruptcy.’ She opened her handbag and put the letter she had received in front of him. ‘If you would just write to this other lawyer and tell him that the bills have been paid—’

  He studied the letter for a few seconds, then looked at her. ‘You have the receipts, of course?’

  ‘Des will have them. He’s my partner. I’ve tried to get in touch with him by telephone, but the exchange say it’s been disconnected.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell me a little more about the business, and the partnership agreement.’

  ‘There isn’t very much to tell. I met Des about three years ago and somehow we just decided to open a boutique, a trendy sort of shop for teenagers.’

  ‘I see. Who supplied the capital?’

  ‘Capital!’ Sara gave a nervous laugh. ‘I wouldn’t have called our few pounds anything as grand as that. I paid the first half year’s rent in advance. There were already a few fixtures in the shop which we leased. Really, it was very easy. The wholesalers gave us stock on credit.’ She paused. ‘I don’t remember that we had any difficulty until now.’

  Mr. Carrigon kept on asking questions until it seemed to Sara that he had gleaned every possible scrap of information. Then he asked a question which scared her.

  ‘Have you sufficient money of your own to pay these accounts?’

  ‘Good heavens, no!’

  ‘And of course you would not wish to go bankrupt?’

  ‘I don’t really know what that means, but if Des and I have been foolish in business we would certainly not wish anyone to lose by it. I mean, given a little time everyone would be paid.’ She grew confused. ‘I don’t understand it at all. I can well remember signing cheques for most of those accounts, if not all.’

  ‘But you don’t seem sure whether there was sufficient money in the bank to clear them.’

  ‘But there must have been. Des kept the books and he wouldn’t have asked me to sign cheques if there hadn’t been enough cash to meet them. Mr. Carrigon—what shall I do?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I have not met Mr. Desmond Morris, so it would be unwise of me to form an opinion of him, but from what you tell me I certainly wouldn’t call him a very good businessman. The notice of proceedings in the bankruptcy court have been served on you, so you, or your solicitor must deal with them. I advise that you allow us to meet the claims against you and that you agree to settle with us out of your expectations.’

  ‘Expectations?’

  ‘In non-legal language, we will pay the bills and you will repay us out of the money you will receive when you lease Fenchurch Millhouse.’ He paused. ‘There will be small legal fees to pay, interest on the loan, and we will require you to take out a life insurance sufficient to cover the entire amount.’

  Sara’s mind was in so much of a turmoil that for some seconds she did not answer. Finally she said in a strained voice,

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Carrigon. I’ll do what you say. Are there any papers for me to sign?’

  ‘I’ll have to have them drawn up. Can you be back here at three o’clock?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll stay in town until then.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find plenty to interest you. Goodbye for the present.’

  Outside in the narrow street, Sara wondered which way to go. By now she knew the traffic-packed streets of Norwich quite well as a motorist, but as a pedestrian she had very little knowledge. Up the hill of the street she could see the traffic and hurrying pedestrians following the curve of the castle mound. Downhill it looked quieter, and at the moment she desperately needed quiet. She went down the slope and found herself in a shop-lined street entirely free of traffic. She had been walking for some seconds before she noticed the whole area was paved and that at various places there were seats and small islands for the planting of shrubs and flowers. A pleasant place for lingering if it had not been for the cutting March wind and the worrying thoughts which beset her.

  Two minutes later she was at the corner of the market place, but despite the gay background of striped awnings and interesting architecture all around, she found no pleasure in the scene. She felt cold and rather empty, but at this moment had a positive aversion to entering one of the large stores for warmth. Equally she had a dislike of taking coffee in one of the crowded restaurants.

  As she hesitated she saw a policeman watching her. Then he moved to approach her and she had a stupid wish to run from him as if she were a criminal.

  ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  The question was so unexpected that Sara stammered her reply.

  ‘No—not—not exactly. I don’t know Norwich very well and—and I was wondering if there was a quiet place for coffee and a snack.’

  ‘Try the Assembly House. It’s only a few minutes’ walk. Straight along by the market, turn right, go a little way up the hill and you’ll see a courtyard with wrought-iron gates in front of it.’

  Sara thanked him and threaded her way among the other pedestrians. At any other time she would have been intrigued by his description of the outside of the place, but at this moment anywhere would do so long as it was peaceful.

  She found the place easily enough and walked the length of the wide courtyard, vaguely noticing that there was a fountain in the middle of it. Then she passed through double swing doors and thought she must be in the wrong place.

  Surely this lofty, elegant Georgian hall with its oil paintings and antique furniture was not the entrance to a coffee bar?

  But the warmth of the place was comforting and had an intriguing air of elegance. There were several people moving in and out and three or four grouped near one of the doors. She moved across a red-patterned carpet and had a view of a self-service restaurant which was by no means crowded.

  At the service counter Sara bought coffee and some very good-looking sausage rolls, then sat at a small table. In spite of her worries she felt again the unique, dignified atmosphere of the place. It seemed to have a steadfast quality that was beyond her descriptive powers. The massive marble mantelpiece was in perfect proportion with the tall pane
lling of the walls whose cool colouring set off the many old portraits in heavy gilded frames. Above the door by which she had come in, the musicians’ gallery was just right. Even the service counter was not out of place if the imagination was stretched just a little, to see the room filled with women in satin gowns and knee-breeched men being served a cold collation by bewigged footmen.

  Sara drank her coffee and mentally braced herself to review her situation. Until she knew more facts she would make no judgment on Des. Something had gone wrong somewhere, but she had little doubt he would help to set things right. In the meantime, some legality had made her entirely responsible. Mr. Carrigon was taking steps to keep her out of the bankruptcy court and that was very fortunate for her. Being bankrupt, it seemed, was something to be dreaded. Almost everything you possessed was taken from you, and you were forbidden to use most of the ordinary facilities of business without disclosing the fact of being a bankrupt.

  Her father, of course, would help her if she asked for assistance, but she was determined not to do so. At her age she should be able to stand on her own feet. So future prospects might look a little bleak, but it wasn’t hopelessly grim. Only the thought of a future without Hugh was hopeless.

  If only he had not kissed her and awakened her love for him. In a few months, perhaps, her business worries would be a thing of the past, put down to experience, a lack of business sense, but her love for Hugh would go on until the end of time itself.

  Sara got up and walked into the main hall. In a room to the right was an exhibition of modern paintings. She looked at them without having any idea what they were about—her thoughts were still on Hugh. On the other side of the hall, glazed doors disclosed a small concert hall and a notice affixed to the door informed her that there would be a recital of poems of truth and beauty that evening.