by Sara Seale
“Good night,” said James again.
He became aware of Pepper still clearing away glasses.
“Leave it all till tomorrow now, Pepper. You must be tired,” he said.
The old man put down his tray and straightened up.
“Thank you, sir. Might I ask, Mr. Fane, sir, if you will be stopping on permanently?”
James felt his chin. He needed a shave.
“I think most definitely, Pepper,” he said.
Pepper’s face showed relief and satisfaction.
“I’m very glad to hear that, sir,” he said, and added mildly: “I thought you’d like Miss Sarah, sir.”
James was down first for breakfast.
“Are they all sleeping if off?” he asked Pepper as he accepted his cup of coffee in solitude.
“Miss Chase always breakfasts in her room, sir,” Pepper replied. “Miss Brand and Mr. Grafton should be down shortly.”
“And Miss Sarah?”
“Miss Sarah has been up some time. I believe she is down at the stables, sir.”
She appeared at that moment through one of the french windows, flung a brief good morning to James, and inspected the contents of the chafing-dish with hungry anticipation.
“Kidney, bacon, buttered eggs, and no sausages. Why aren’t there sausages, Pepper?”
“The young gentlemen were frying sausages before they went, last night, Miss Sarah,” Pepper said reproachfully. “There was only enough bacon left for the dining-room as it was.”
He poured out her coffee while she piled her plate up from the chafing-dish, then retired to his own quarters.
“Pepper’s an old sweetie, isn’t he?” remarked Sarah, sitting down next to James.
James looked at her with amusement. She was very slender, and in her butcher-blue linen jeans she might have been any age. Her shoulder-length hair, very red in the sunlight, had plainly known only a cursory brushing, and her hands were none too clean. She ate in silence, not taking any further notice of James, but when he spoke to her she answered politely if briefly.
He rolled up his napkin and lit a cigarette.
“When do your guests go?” he asked pleasantly.
“Bill and Peronel? This morning. Bill’s driving her up to Town. Why?”
“I only wanted to know. When they’re gone, I should like to have a talk with you.” Sarah made no reply, but her expression, which was written plainly on her face said: “Not on your life!” James smiled at her.
“We’ve got to begin to get to know each other some time,” he said.
“You got to know a lot last night,” she retorted, and looked across at him with hostile green eyes. “But don’t think, J.B., that you know all about me. You don’t by a long chalk.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” said James, amused. “But perhaps a little more than I would have known had we been meeting now for the first time.”
She looked confused.
“Don’t you think that because you—because I—well, don’t think anything,” she said.
“What should I think?” said James innocently. He hadn’t meant to bring up that incident at the breakfast table.
She looked at him, blinking a little, as she had last night in her nervousness.
“Nothing, of course,” she said. “It might have been anyone. It was just bad luck it was you.”
“I think it was rather fortunate that it was me,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s not very wise to invite—er—advances from strange men, Sarah.”
It was on the tip of Sarah’s tongue to cry: “You were the first I’ve ever kissed—you seemed different.” But that was letting the G.I. get away with it.
“Everybody necks these days,” she said. “I don’t think anything of it—nobody does.”
But he made no comment to this provocative statement. Sarah’s inexperience had told its own story.
She sat watching him under her long lashes. In the morning light he looked older than she had supposed him to be last night. His dark hair had a hint of grey in it, and there were small criss-cross lines at the corners of his grey eyes.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, and she lowered her lashes quickly.
“I was wondering how old you were,” she said.
“Thirty-six. And since we’re on the subject, how old, exactly, are you? Oh, I know last night you were twenty-one, but that I gathered was for the purpose of experience.”
She hesitated, then said gruffly:
“Seventeen.”
“Then much may be forgiven you,” said James.
“I’m nearly eighteen,” she hastened to assure him. “And I grew up ages ago.”
James grinned. “When I was seventeen I was still at school.”
“Oh, but,” said Sarah very earnestly, “it’s a known fact that women mature quicker than men.”
He remembered in time that one mustn’t laugh at the very young, and offered her a cigarette with due gravity.
“Thank you.” She leaned her elbows on the table and smoked with enjoyment, regaining her poise.
“We must plan out our days,” said James. “There must be lots for you to show me. It’ll be fun seeing it all again.”
“The week-end is yours,” she said graciously. “After you’ve gone I’m going to spend a few days with Peronel.”
“After I’ve gone?”
“Yes, when your visit to us is over.”
“Oh, I see. This is the Plan working out, is it? But supposing I tell you that I’m not going?”
She looked at him anxiously.
“Oh, well, of course, if you’re going to stay longer than a week-end—But there’s nothing to do here. It’s a very dull place.”
He pushed back his chair and got to his feet as he heard Sophie’s voice in the hall.
“On the contrary, Sarah, I’m going to stay considerably longer than a week-end. I’m going to stay for good,” he said, and watched with amusement the almost comic dismay which came into her face.
Before she could think of a reply, Sophie bustled into the room clad in a flowing violet dressing-gown.
“Good morning, James. You look flushed, Sarah. Did you have too much to drink last night?” Sophie looked at James and said hastily: “Not, of course, that Sarah drinks, James, but all these young people today—Ah, here’s Mr. Grafton. Help yourself, won’t you? Oh, there’s Pepper—he’s so clever with eggs and bacon—arranging them on one’s plate, I mean—Pepper—”
“I was just going to take up Miss Chase’s tray, miss,” Pepper said, when Sarah snatched it from him.
“I’ll take the tray up,” she said, “I want to talk to Peronel.”
“Tell her not to be too long getting up,” said Bill Grafton. “I want to start about eleven.”
He helped himself from the chafing-dish and sat down next to Sophie.
“Funny, you know, to meet you in the flesh, so to speak,” he said to James conversationally. “I don’t think anyone really believed in Sally’s guardian, not even Sophie—now did you, Sophie?”
“Why,” said Sophie, opening her round blue eyes widely, “of course I did! I mean to say, well, there were the letters coming regularly—J.B. Fane—and, of course, I knew James anyway, and after all—well, of course I believed in Sarah’s guardian.”
James grinned. “Just the man who signed the cheques. Well, it’s all going to be different now, Sophie. I’ve got to establish and identity.”
“Well,” said Bill heartily, “you ought to have fun with Sally. She’s after your blood all right!”
He rose noisily, and tucking The Times under his arm, went out on to the terrace to find a seat in the sun.
“Mr. Grafton,” said Sophie with unexpected acumen, “is rather a stupid man.” She looked at James with sudden curiosity.
“Didn’t Sarah really know who you were last night?” she asked.
James shook his head.
“Perhaps it was a mistake on my part, but I couldn’t resist it,” he replied. “
She was so very confidential.”
“Oh,” said Sophie doubtfully. She had had experiences of Sarah’s confidential fits before. “And what did you think of her?”
“I’ll tell you that in a week or so,” said James noncommittally.
“A week or so,” repeated Sophie vaguely, then she pulled herself together. “Well now, James, let’s make plans,” she said brightly. “How long are you staying?”
He looked amused.
“I’m staying permanently, Sophie,” he said gently.
Her soft, rather indecisive mouth fell open. “Permanently?”
“Yes, why not? I know, Sarah seems in a great hurry to get rid of me, but this is my home, you know.”
“Yes,” said Sophie blankly, “I suppose it is.”
“And don’t you think, quite honestly between ourselves”—he went on still more gently—“that I’m needed here now?”
Sophie blinked, said reluctantly: “Yes, perhaps you are—Sarah is getting a little beyond me.” then added ingenuously: “It will be rather nice to have a man about the house again.”
Upstairs in Peronel’s room, Sarah was unburdening herself.
“I don’t want him here, prying about, upsetting everything,” she said, and added uneasily: “Besides, after last night—”
“What exactly happened last night?” Peronel asked idly. Sarah, curled up on the foot of the bed, thumped the eiderdown angrily, and said, “Well, for one thing, I gave away most of my plans for getting rid of him, so now he’s warned, I suppose it was like a kind of challenge. If I knew someone wanted to get rid of me, I’d stick for all I was worth just to show them, wouldn’t you?”
Peronel smiled, but there was a hint of impatience in her shrewd, guarded eyes. She made a point of cultivating young girls who were coming out if they had money enough for an expensive wardrobe, but it was often a boring process without always bringing profit. Sarah was rather a pet in her way, but this tomboy naiveté was rather exhausting at times. Peronel was no more anxious than Sarah to have a watchful guardian vetting the bills, but, properly handled, James could be managed.
“I think your approach is all wrong, darling,” she said. “You should wheedle him, not antagonise him. He’s probably come home feeling slightly sentimental about the whole business. He’s young enough to take this guardian and ward business rather seriously, and old enough to have tiresome ideas about budding womanhood. When a man has passed the thirties without marrying, and comes into money, he becomes one of two things. Either he shakes off all ties and becomes a carefree bachelor, or he has subconscious cravings for a home and a wife.”
Sarah gave a shout of delight.
“That’s it!” she cried. “That’s the solution! We’ll find him a wife—a nice sensible woman, who’ll look after him and mend his socks and read The Times’ leading article to him every day.”
“If you start match-making, Sarah, you’ll land yourself in trouble,” said Peronel lazily. “Besides, it wouldn’t solve your problem. You wouldn’t find it nearly so easy to get away with things if you had a woman to deal with as well.”
“But,” said Sarah ingenuously, “they wouldn’t want me to live with them! That’s the whole idea—get J.B. married, then Sophie and I could buzz off on our own and be independent.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Peronel said, “I’m not sure you’d find he’d agree to that. My impression last night was that he had every intention of keeping you under his own eye. I may be wrong, of course, but something happened last night to get him to make up his mind by this morning that lie was staying for good this time.”
Sarah’s eyes opened wide in dismay. “You don’t think—? It couldn’t have been—?” she began.
“Yes?” prompted Peronel curiously,
“Well,” Sarah’s words began to tumble out in a hurry, “you’re always telling me, Peronel, that I’ve got to start sometime, and I thought when I didn’t know who J.B. was—well, he was sober, and he seemed nice, and—and—well, it was rather like telling your troubles to a stranger. You say all kinds of things you wouldn’t say to someone who knows you. I felt it was a good opportunity, that’s all.”
Peronel burst out laughing.
“My poor Sarah! Did you try a spot of necking in the moonlight? And picked your own guardian to begin on!”
“It was disgusting of him not to tell me,” said Sarah, pink at the recollection.
Peronel continued to laugh.
“I don’t wonder he didn’t tell you,” she said. “I don’t think you’re going to have such an easy job getting rid of Mr. James Fane. Did he respond nicely?”
“Yes, he did.”
Peronel stretched like a cat.
“A gentleman of parts,” she said with amusement. “He must have enjoyed the joke. No, Sarah, my sweet, I’m afraid you’re sunk, and the only thing for you to do is to out a good face on it. Alas, you’ve got him interested.”
“I’ll soon get him uninterested,” scowled Sarah. “I have plans.”
Peronel suddenly became bored with the conversation.
“I must get up,” she said. “Bill wants to be in Town by lunchtime.”
“Can I come and stay soon?” Sarah asked, and Peronel answered idly:
“Yes, do. Come up and have a look at my new models. But this time you’ll be guided by me. I can’t have you going round in garments fifteen years too old for you and saying you are dressed by Peronel et Cie. Be a sweet and run a bath for me?”
When she was ready, Peronel sent Sarah to find Bill Grafton, and went downstairs to look for James. She found him out on the terrace, smoking a pipe while he gazed contentedly at the green lawns spread before him.
“It must be pleasant coming back to all this,” she said, dropping gracefully into a chair beside him.
James smiled.
“Yes, it’s very pleasant. I’ve been thinking what a fool I was not to have settled down before.”
“Yes, it would have been nice for Sarah. How do you like being responsible for a grown-up young woman?”
He smiled.
“Yes, it is rather a responsibility, isn’t it? And I suppose Sarah is growing up.”
“She’s rather a pet, isn’t she? But she needs careful handling. I’ve been taking her about the last six months, you know. I think it’s good for her to acquire a little polish at this age.”
James turned in his chair to look at her. That faint sense of distrust which he had felt last night still lingered, but there was nothing he could put a finger on and give it a name. Peronel, sitting there in the sunlight smiling with gentle amusement, was just a charming, perfectly dressed woman, no longer very young, but with that indefinable quality of attraction which made a guess at her real age difficult. She might, in fact, be good for Sarah, or she might be very bad indeed.
Peronel’s smile of amusement reached her eyes. She was quite aware of James’s thoughts.
“You’re thinking it strange that Sarah and I should be friends, aren’t you?” she asked gently. “I wouldn’t be so foolish as to pretend there’s no profit in it for me. Dressing women is my living, and we all must live but I like the child. Perhaps I’ve felt a little sorry for her—she’s very alone in the world, isn’t she? Sophie—well, Sophie’s a dear, but I think Sarah needs a more watchful eye than hers from time to time. I think I’ve been able to help.”
It was a charming, honest little speech and James felt more liking for her.
“That’s kind of you,” he said. “You seem to have made an impression on the child. She talks a great deal about you.”
“Dear Sarah! I’m glad. And you’ll let me continue to dress her? She pays for dressing, you know.”
James smiled a little cryptically. Oh, well, after all, it was the woman’s trade.
“It makes no odds to me where Sarah gets her clothes,” he said pleasantly. “I know nothing about these things.”
Peronel rose and held out her hand. She liked husbands and guardians who knew nothing
about these things.
“That’s nice of you. Well, good-bye, Mr. Fane, and thank you for the party,” she said, and lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “We were Sarah’s guests, but I suppose you were really our host. I hope next time she stays with me in London, you’ll come and dine. We’ll go on to a show or something afterwards.”
James walked with her round to the front of the house and stood with Sophie to see the guests off. Sarah jumped into the back seat and ordered Bill to drop her at the gates.
“Good-bye, Sophie! Shan’t be back for lunch,” she shouted as Bill’s car disappeared down the drive.
“And that,” said James, shrugging his shoulders, “only postpones the evil hour, young woman.”
“What evil hour?” asked Sophie vaguely. “Bother the child! That Moon boy is coming at twelve. That means I’ll have him on my hands for lunch.”
“Who’s the Moon boy?” enquired James.
“Oh, a would-be admirer. Sarah says he’s ‘wet,’ whatever that may mean, but he’s a nice gentlemanly lad.”
James looked amused.
“Yes, I suppose the admirers have begun to rally round,” he said. “Am I going to have prospective suitors on my hands as well as a half-fledged young woman, Sophie?”
“Suitors? There aren’t many eligible young men in these parts,” said Sophie. “But you might do worse, James, than marry her off early. It would solve a lot of problems.”
“What utter nonsense!” he exclaimed sharply. “She’s hardly out of the schoolroom. Besides, Sophie, what would happen to your job then?” he added slyly.
“I hadn’t thought, of that,” she said naively. “You’re right, James. We must keep her as she is, young and fresh and—well, you know what I mean. After all, there’s plenty of time before Sarah need settle down, and I always say a girl should get her flirting done before marriage and not after. Don’t you agree, James?”
“I expect so,” said James absently. “I think I’ll go down to the lodge and have a talk with Hughes. He’s rather been neglecting the place, hasn’t he? Don’t wait lunch, I’ll probably have a bite with him. I want to look the place over thoroughly.”
“Oh, dear!” wailed Sophie, turning towards the house. “That means I shall have no help with the Moon boy, and he never has a word to say.”