by Sara Seale
“Really, Raff, you’re impossible!” she exclaimed. “I arranged those American contacts with a great deal of trouble—people I’d met when Noel and I were running that place that went bust. We’re trying to make money for you, darling—can’t you understand?”
They were sitting in his study, waiting for Judy who had been sent with a message to the farm, and Marcia had already made chaos out of the neatly stacked morning s mail which had still to be dealt with. She looked delightful in one of the thin, expensive woollen dresses she had been wearing since the weather grew warmer, but Raff’s eyes were on Slieve Rury, across the water, noting how its colour had changed with the spring and the approach of summer. He was in one of his abstracted moods, she saw, and told herself wryly that this was the first time she had been obliged to compete with a mountain for a man’s attentions.
“Did you hear me, Raff?” she asked, trying to keep the impatience from her voice.
“Yes, I heard,” he replied, and turned with reluctance from his contemplations of the mountain. “You know, Marcia, I’m beginning to think Judy’s right.”
“Judy!”
“She’s often said that Slyne would pay better if it had been left as it was—an Irish country house run on simple lines, offering something of the old dignity and tradition that is fast dying out. We’re attracting the wrong clientele.”
“And is that Miss Judith Ware’s opinion, too?”
“No, it’s mine.”
“Well!” said Marcia, her dark eyes angry, “I must say I hardly expected you to take the wafflings of a chit of a girl seriously! What do you imagine she knows about the running of a place like this?”
“She has a sense of values,” he said, biting on the stem of his empty pipe.
“Meaning that I haven’t?”
“No, I didn’t mean that, yours are different, probably. Marcia...” he leaned forward suddenly and she became aware that he was at last observing her intently, but the sunlight flooded through the window behind him and she could not read his face, “... do you think you would really be happy at Slyne for the rest of your life?”
“Am I to take that for a declaration, or are you just being vague?” she asked with a little smile.
“Was a declaration what you wanted?” he answered, and she glanced at him sharply. He was in many ways a surprising man, she thought, and now that he had given her a direct opening, she scarcely knew how to use it “Oh, darling!” she exclaimed with a little laugh. “I’ve made all the running—I admit it shamelessly. Have I been so easy to resist?” She thought he seemed to withdraw as if she had slightly shocked him, and when he answered it was with a certain stiff formality.
“You are a beautiful woman, Marcia; you should know the answer to that one. If I’ve seemed backward, you must blame the sort of life I’ve led at Slyne. We don’t, perhaps, understand women like you in this part of the world.”
She moved restlessly, telling herself she must be patient. His curious detachment was hardly flattering, but it only served to heighten her desire for him, a desire, she recognised, which might, as Noel had warned her, be slowly extinguished once she had got what she wanted.
“But do you never want to leave here?” she asked curiously, unable to resist further probing.
“I don’t think so.”
“I believe,” she said, softly echoing Judy’s words to Timsy, “you don’t really know what you want. You’ve stagnated too long, living with Kathy’s memory.”
“No, I haven’t done that,” he replied thoughtfully. “I recognised long ago that one cannot live with a ghost. If she’s sometimes in my thoughts it’s because of some unexpected association like a place once visited, or little Judy’s red hair and youthful wisdom.”
“Little Judy’s youthful wisdom may land her in trouble before she’s much older,” she retorted sharply, then bit her lip as she saw his frown of distaste.
“You don’t like her?” he said, more as a statement than a question, and she made a small grimace.
“Darling, I don’t think about her except when she gets in my hair. It might be fairer to say that she doesn’t like me,” she said, and he replied absently, dismissing the matter.
“Yes, you are very different.”
“You aren’t very flattering, darling,” she said with a little laugh. “You say I’m a beautiful woman, but how much does that mean to you? Had you been more experienced in affairs of the heart, I would have said you were just being clever and holding me off. What must I do to rouse that spark in you, or are you temperamentally frigid, like so many of your race?”
She was leaning over him and he could feel the softness of her breasts against his shoulder and smell the subtle scent which she always used, and he pulled her down into his arms with a gesture that was both urgent and reluctant.
“No, I’m not frigid,” he said with a sudden undertone of roughness. “I’ve been celibate a long time, Marcia, and never learnt, perhaps, the easy way of passion. We are a chaste race rather than a cold one, and that, I suppose, can have its disadvantages.”
She lay passively in his arms, not understanding at all the struggle that was in him. Her mounting desire fought to assert itself, but instinct warned her that it was too soon. It would, she thought, returning his kiss with frank curiosity, be amusing and stimulating to break down a resistance that was still a delightful novelty.
“If marriage frightens you, darling, I’m quite ready to take you as a lover,” she murmured drowsily, and knew at once that she had shocked him.
“Do you imagine I would start an affair with a woman under my own roof?” he said.
“No, I suppose not, with your outlook. But others aren’t so particular, you know. Take Noel and Judy, for instance.”
She felt him stiffen so violently that she slipped off his knee and stood looking down at him curiously.
“You told me you weren’t a jealous man,” she said slowly, “but there’s something very like it in your face now—and on little Judy Ware’s account, too! Well, well, well!”
“Aren’t you being rather absurd?” he said coldly. “If I’m concerned for Judy it’s because she’s a young girl in my employ and I feel responsible for her.”
“I hope that’s all it is,” she said. “Or have you been getting up to larks with her on your own account?”
“Oh, really, Marcia!”
“I wouldn’t grudge the poor child her fun, even though I don’t much care for her, so why should you?” Marcia’s eyes narrowed. “Is this absurd reminder of Kathy responsible for something a little more than the kindly interest of a watchful employer?”
He stooped for his pipe which he dropped on the floor and began to fill it. She had, perhaps, gone too far, but at the same time, she was no fool. It did not seem possible that he could have been stirred by Judy, with her own riper charms at hand to tempt him, but there was always the ghost of that tiresome Kathy getting mixed up in their relationships.
“Darling,” she said, kneeling down beside him, “I’ve shocked you about Judy and I’m sorry. I’ve shocked you about myself too, I’m afraid, but—I want you, Raff. Aren’t you ready yet to settle down?”
“I’ like to settle down, yes—raise children—put down roots—but are you?”
“You make it sound a bit dreary, darling,” she said, and he gave her a long, questioning look.
“You had better think about it carefully,” he said gently. “My terms of partnership mightn’t coincide with yours.”
“You are expert at evading the issue, aren’t you?” she said a little sharply, and he looked surprised.
“Am I” he said, and added with apparent irrelevance: “Judy had better go.”
“But why?” Astonishment made her forget for the moment that she had been sidetracked.
“If she’s likely to lose her head over Noel, then I want no responsibility in the matter. He’s hardly the marrying kind, I would say,” he replied.
“You can’t get rid of her yet, Raff
,” she said reluctantly. “With fresh bookings coming in every day there’s a mass of paper-work to be got through which neither I or Noel could begin to cope with—besides, it would cause an upheaval all round. The servants are used to her and won’t take kindly to someone new, and she keeps our two chief bores happy when they periodically besiege us with complaints—also she’s a good secretary, and you wouldn’t easily replace her.”
He was frowning, but he listened attentively, nodding his head gravely when she had finished.
“Yes. I see your point,” he said. “Well, you’d better speak to Noel—or I will.”
“No, no, leave it to me. The whole thing is probably a mare’s nest, anyway. She’s hardly Noel’s cup of tea, now I come to think of it,” she said quickly. It was, she thought, too infuriating that the very moment she could have fulfilled her ambition to get rid of the girl she must plead for her to stay.
“Very well. Perhaps I’ll drop a hint to the child should the opportunity occur,” he said, and she looked at him speculatively.
“I shouldn’t do that if I were you, darling. So embarrassing for the poor sweet, don’t you think?” she replied casually. “Are you fond of her, Raff?”
“Let’s not discuss Judy,” he answered a little brusquely, then gave her one of his rare, charming smiles and laid a deprecating hand over hers.
“I’m afraid I’ve failed you, Marcia. Will you bear with me a little longer?” he said. “I’d not ask a woman to marry me unless I was sure.”
“Sure of me, do you mean?”
“No, my dear, of myself.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, getting to her feet again. “We’re neither of us children any longer and I’m not at all concerned with romance.”
“Aren’t you?” She almost thought she detected disappointment in his voice, then he smiled again, this time a little ruefully, and got out of his chair.
“Well, as you rightly say, neither of us are children. Forgive my shortcomings, will you, my dear?” he said a little formally, and, stooping, kissed her gently on the forehead just as Judy burst into the room, afraid that her errand to the farm had delayed her too long for the morning’s work.
“Oh!” she said, then added: “Sorry!” in the gruff tones of an awkward schoolgirl.
“Come in, Judy, we’ve a lot of work to get through,” Raff said, and Marcia prepared to leave them.
“I mustn’t delay you,” she said, adding with a warning glance at Raff: “I’ll go and find Noel,” and blew him a kiss before she shut the door.
III
Judy, dishevelled and out of breath, sat down at the desk and began to sort out the letters which Marcia had reduced to untidy chaos. They both of them puzzled her. Marcia’s expression had plainly shown satisfaction and the triumph of achievement, but there seemed nothing to be learnt from Raff. She was aware, as she took his dictation, that he watched her with more than ordinary attention and that the reflective look in his eyes was not entirely reassuring.
“What is it?” she said at last, made uneasy by an attitude she did not understand.
“I’m not aware that anything is amiss,” he replied, gravely. “Am I going too fast for you?”
“No, I’m used to your ways now. It was only that—”
“Only what?” But she was beginning to wish she had remained silent.
“Nothing,” she said, and put a fresh piece of paper into her machine. She waited for him to begin his dictation, but he said instead, with a suddenness that took her by surprise:
“Marcia warned me not to speak to you, Judy, but I flunk I should drop you a hint all the same.”
“Has Marcia been making mischief?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“On the contrary. I was, in fact, contemplating sending you back to England. It was Marcia who persuaded me not to,” he replied and saw those endearing freckles stand out as the colour drained from her
“Send me away!” she echoed. “But why? Haven’t I worked well—haven’t I given satisfaction?”
He moved uneasily, as if already regretting that he had brought the subject up.
“I’ve nothing to complain of in your work.. You do more than the secretarial job you’re paid for, as it is.”
“Then why do you want to send me away?”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not sending you away—not yet, at any rate. But you’re very young, Judy, and I feel responsible for you so long as you’re under my roof. Perhaps we’d better leave it at that.”
The colour was coming back to her face and a hint of temper to her eyes.
“Oh, no, we won’t,” she said. “Dropping hints, being vague and rather ridiculously avuncular! You should come right out with your complaints, Raff.”
He looked a little surprised.
“Was I being avuncular?” he asked. “Well, I’m a very great deal older than you, so perhaps the habit is unconscious. I’ve no complaint Judy. I had a notion that you were possibly getting a little too fond of Noel, and I don’t want you to get hurt that’s all.”
“Spongy Maule!” she exclaimed with such genuine mirth and derision that he had to smile. “But he’s an obvious wolf—I told you that before! Why, I don’t even like him very much, except in a superficial sort of way. Did you honestly think that I was having an affair with Noel?”
“You’ve been giving a pretty fair imitation of it, haven’t you?” he said. “That day in his office—”
“But I explained that.”
“... the other night on the terrace. I realise you didn’t know that you could be seen.”
“He was biting my ear—I told you!” she said, trying to make fun of it again, but he merely raised sceptical eyebrows and she rushed heedlessly into speech.
“Whatever you think, O’Rafferty,” she said, addressing him with unconscious formality by the title his tenants gave him, “what right have you to order my life? Soft words—kisses in the moonlight, perhaps—what do they mean to you?”
“Rather more than they mean to you, evidently,” he replied, and she flung back her head in defiance, making the thick red hair swing out in an angry curve.
“And can you and Marcia play games and go unreprimanded?” she demanded. “Shouldn’t it be a case of what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander?”
“That’s a little vulgar, don’t you think?” he answered mildly, and she suddenly bowed her head in her hands and wept.
His eyes, as he watched her, held a tenderness tinged with dismay. In the short time he had known her, she had sometimes been near to tears, but he had never seen her weep.
“Judy...” he said, reaching across the desk to touch her, “... don’t cry like that, my dear. I’m—I’ve probably been clumsy. Marcia warned me—”
“Marcia warned you that I was an unbalanced little schoolgirl with the usual propensity for crushes, I suppose,” she gulped, and did not see the puzzled uncertainty in his face.
“No, of course not,” he said, and his voice was soft again with the beguiling cadences of his race. “It would never have occurred to me that you would have given me a thought.”
“Wouldn’t it—wouldn’t it, Raff?” she said, and lifted her tear-stained face from her hands to gaze at him.
“No,” he answered with sudden brusqueness. “Why should it? Noel is, after all, more your own age, and has an easier way with women than I’ve ever learnt.”
“Oh, no, dear Raff,” she said, smiling through her tears. “You have the gifts most women want—integrity, wisdom—tenderness, I think.”
He got to his feet with a sudden, clumsy movement, and walked to the window. She could see the outline of his lean, loosely-built frame in dark silhouette against the brightness of the spring sky, and saw, too, the little hunch of discomfort he gave to his shoulders as he thrust his hands into his pockets.
“I think I should tell you that there may be changes at Slyne,” he said, and wondered, even as he spoke, exactly what he meant to convey to her.
She sat very still, and surreptitiously brushed the drying tears from her cheeks. She felt her spine stiffen as the minutes ticked away and neither of them spoke, then she said in a voice that was suddenly completely composed: “How very nice. Do these changes call for congratulations?”
He turned then from the window to look at her, but she could not read his expression with the light behind him, and her own was carefully schooled to show only polite interest.
“We are at cross-purposes, I think,” he said.
“We often are. You talk in conundrums.”
“Do I? I merely thought I might owe you an explanation of some sort. I’ve run off the course a little, I think,” he said, and sounded as though he was appealing for reassurance.
“You owe me nothing, Raff,” she replied in a clear, untroubled voice. “How long do you want me to stay on here?”
“Stay on here? Oh, I see. We’ll talk about it some other time, shall we?”
“As you like, but I’ll need some warning—in order to get another job, you see.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll give you fair notice, naturally, and a bonus to tide you over while you look for a post in England—also every recommendation.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but I shall stay in Ireland, if I can, so it may not be necessary—the bonus, I mean.”
“Stay here?”
“Well, somewhere in the country. I’ve taken a liking for it.”
His ugly features softened to an unconscious tenderness. “Mrs. Farrell was right, I think. Your heart’s already in Irish soil,” he said softly, and she got up abruptly, knocking her row of newly sharpened pencils on to the floor.
“Would you excuse me if I went now, Mr. O’Rafferty?” she said, unaware that she had reverted to the old, formal mode of address. “I’ll finish the letters this afternoon and get someone to take them to the post.”
She went upstairs and saw from the nursery window Raff and the Colonel putting out in the boat to fish the lough, and sighed, envying them their masculine escapes from domestic stress. She watched the boat growing smaller and smaller in the distance, then sat down at her dressing-table and stared distastefully at her reflection in the mirror, aware only then of the dishevelled state of her appearance. With Marcia so poised, so finished as to detail, it was no wonder, she thought, that she herself was treated as a child, a nice, healthy, freckled child with few pretensions to beauty, and hair that could have been an asset had it not served as a disagreeable reminder of another.