The Silver Sty

by Sara Seale

  Watching her with David that evening, James wondered for perhaps the first time if that affair might become serious. They seemed excellent friends, and the young man plainly was very much attracted.

  “Sarah might do worse, you know,” Peronel told him once. “David’s a nice boy and he’s got a certain amount of money.”

  Yes, David was decent enough. James wondered if under that easy, lighthearted manner there lay the more solid qualities of strength and understanding. Would he be able to meet in a few years’ time the demands of a more mature Sarah, or would he be content like so many of his kind and generation to skimp over the deeper emotions of a relationship? No, thought James with faint disquiet, David wasn’t old enough yet to prove adequate for that ardent, untried child, not quite a woman.

  They were drinking their coffee and liqueurs after dinner in the drawing-room when Pepper came in to speak to Sarah.

  “It’s young Mr. Baker, Miss Sarah,” he said. “He won’t come in, but he wants to see you for a moment.”

  Sarah flushed scarlet and looked at James in consternation. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “How awful of me! I quite forgot.” James looked enquiring. “I’d promised the Bakers I would spend the evening with them. I’d completely forgotten about it. J.B., what’ll I do?”

  “That’s awkward,” said James sympathetically. “But explain you’ve got guests and suggest going another day.”

  Sarah ran to the door.

  “I shall bring him in to spend the rest of the evening,” she said. “The Bakers don’t have much fun.”

  “Oh, dear!” sighed Sophie as she disappeared. “He won’t mix at all. James, couldn’t you—”

  “Let him come in if he wants to,” James said quietly. “It’s up to Sarah.”

  David raised an enquiring eyebrow. He hadn’t heard of the Bakers. Colonel Moon cleared his throat loudly and remarked: “The boy won’t accept if he’s any sense, but it’s a good gesture, what?”

  Sarah found Jake standing just inside the hall, his old oil-stained mackintosh buttoned to his throat, his cap in his hand.

  “Jake! I am so sorry about tea,” she began. “I meant to let you know, but Peronel and David arrived about then and I forgot all about it. Were you expecting me?”

  “We were expecting you,” Jake said a little sullenly. “And Ma had tea ready for you.”

  “Oh Jake!” Sarah’s face was soft and troubled. He looked at her standing there, slender and somehow unfamiliar in her green frock, and he said gruffly:

  “That’s all right. Things are different now. Tigger ate your portion, anyway. I just came over on the old bike because I wanted to give you something.” He thrust a little parcel into Sarah’s hands.

  She undid it, thinking that she never remembered being given anything by one of the Bakers before. She held a hideous little green china dog in careful fingers and felt suddenly like crying.

  “It’s not much,” muttered Jake, “but you like green.”

  “Oh, Jake, thank you,” she said. “He’s lovely. I’ll keep him always on my mantelpiece. Now, will you do something for me? Will you come in and join us? We’re going to play games or something. I just know that we’ll have loads of fun.”

  He backed away.

  “In these togs!” he exclaimed. “No, I’ll keep out. I wouldn’t mix with your fine friends.”

  “But you know the Moons. Alan’s awfully dumb, but David’s nice. You’ll like him. Please, Jake. I feel so awful about tea. It would make me so happy if you’d join us—just to show there’s no ill feeling.”

  He hesitated. He didn’t want to be laughed at by Sarah’s friends, but she was difficult to refuse with that new, gentle manner, and anyway, he was as good as any of them even if he hadn’t got the right clothes.

  “All right,” he said ungraciously, and took of his mackintosh.

  James rose quickly to welcome him, feeling sorry for the big, ungainly boy standing there so awkwardly in his stained flannel suit. Sarah was going to find she had a difficult guest on her hands.

  She was introducing him to David.

  “This is Jake. We used to play together when we were children.”

  “Hullo!” said David, looking at Jake a little curiously, and wondering privately if he was an ex-stable boy.

  The evening, as David afterwards expressed it, was a flop. Sophie, as was her custom when she was nervous, dropped brick after brick. Jake, sitting on the edge of a chair in a room which he had never seen before, for the drawing-room at Fallow was seldom used, spilt his coffee on the carpet, and relapsed into embarrassed silence made no easier by David’s lighthearted chatter on subjects he didn’t understand. David didn’t mean to snub, but he honestly thought the best way to get through the evening was to treat it as a joke. James tried to put the boy at his ease and get him to talk about his work, and at last, in desperation, Sarah suggested a game.

  They played Animal, Vegetable and Mineral, and sent Jake out, Sarah at the last minute going with him, saying: “We’ll do it in pairs, it’s more fun.”

  But David thought of the top button on Jake’s coat which was loose and hanging by an untidy thread, and Jake blushed a fiery red when Sophie said:

  “Take off your coat, my dear boy. I’ll sew it on for you at once.”

  At last he said he must be going, and this time Sarah made no effort to keep him. She had struggled gallantly with an unpromising situation and felt angry with Jake for being so awkward, and angry with David for being so easy. In the empty hall, she helped Jake on with his mackintosh and thanked him for coming.

  “That chap, David,” he remarked suddenly, “he’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, that’s just David’s manner,” she said uneasily.

  “Well, he’s your kind, I suppose,” Jake said, and with a clumsy gesture pulled her towards him and kissed her.

  After he had gone, she stood for a moment, rubbing her lips and wishing she could burst into tears on J.B.’s shoulder. It seemed such a little while ago that she and Jake and Tigger had run wild together, noisy children being chivvied out of doors by Ma Willick.

  She went back to the drawing-room and stood in the doorway.

  “I’m going to the kitchen to scrounge for eggs and bacon,” she announced.

  David said: “I’ll come and help you, my sweet,” and followed her out, while James wanted to say: “I should leave her alone for a little.”

  In the kitchen, David sat on the table and watched Sarah break eggs into a frying-pan.

  “Who’s your odd friend?” he asked idly.

  “Jake isn’t odd,” said Sarah without turning round. “The Bakers are poor and the boys have never had a chance to learn things.”

  “Oh, I see,” said David, who plainly didn’t. “But what made you run around with people like that?”

  “What do you mean by people like that?” she asked, and he caught the ominous note in her voice.

  “Sorry, darling,” he said easily. “I didn’t mean to criticise. I made some rum friends myself when I was young. One grows out of them.”

  “I don’t drop my friends when I’ve grown out of them,” she said. “I’m sorry if poor Jake spoilt your evening, but at least I owed him common politeness.”

  “Darling! Don’t be so prickly!” David’s voice was lightly teasing. “You can entertain all the garage hands in the place as far as I’m concerned if it makes you happy. I only thought you weren’t doing him much kindness really. It must have been a very uncomfortable evening for him.”

  “Oh, don’t be so patronising,” she snapped.

  He regarded her thoughtfully, disappointed and a little puzzled. The enticing smell of frying bacon tickled his nostrils. The big kitchen was friendly and intimate, and Sarah, intent on her task, was absurd and quite adorable. He wanted to make love to her instead of bicker about a half-educated youth he was never likely to see again.

  She carried the frying-pan over to the table and began lifting the eggs and bacon into a d
ish.

  “Smells good,” said David, sniffing. “Can you cook other things, Sarah?”

  “My only accomplishment,” she said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t brought up domestic.”

  He looked at her flushed face and laughed softly.

  “And who wants you any other way?” he said. “Sarah, don’t be cross. I’m sorry if I was tactless. You’re such a child in so many ways, and you don’t understand the effect you have on people. You were being so sweet to that poor chap tonight that he probably went away with a lot of silly ideas in his head—see what I mean?”

  Sarah saw only too well, but she wasn’t going to have it pointed out by David. That was the G.L’s doubtful privilege.

  “You don’t know anything about Jake and me,” she said, “But I’m sorry I spoilt everyone’s evening by bringing him in.”

  “Oh, I say, Sarah!” he protested mildly. “Haven’t I tried to tell you—? Anyway, it was your party.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah sweetly, “It was my party. Will you go and tell the others to come and eat their eggs and bacon in the kitchen? It’s easier than bringing in plates.”

  Sunday was fine and frosty and after breakfast Sarah rounded up her guests for a walk, Sophie, who never walked if she could help it, said she had household affairs to attend to, and Peronel pleaded laziness and a desire to spend the morning over a fire with a book. David declared himself ready and willing, and Sarah told James he was to accompany them.

  “Well, I really think I’ve got various jobs of my own to do,” said James, feeling that, from David’s point of view, three was decidedly not company. But Sarah insisted.

  “Yes, J.B., you must come,” she said. “We’ll walk on the Downs and you and David can fill your lungs with English air and be very British and hearty. David’s only used to towns.” James sensed that she didn’t want to be alone with David for some reason or other, and agreed good-naturedly.

  The two men waited on the terrace while Sarah changed her shoes, and David said casually,

  “I blotted my copy-book last night. I was stupid enough to discuss that odd chap she brought in.”

  “Oh,” said James non-committally. “Yes, that was rather a mistake, Jake’s an old friend of Sarah’s.”

  “But don’t you ever—” David paused delicately.

  “Only when it’s necessary,” he remarked, and added with humour: “But it’s a little different for me. Sarah has to pay attention occasionally.”

  “You know,” said David with charming ingenuousness, “it’s odd to think that you stand in relation to a father to Sarah. You don’t look the part, somehow.”

  “I can’t say,” James retorted with unexpected irritation, “I’ve ever felt particularly like a father.”

  David gave him a quick, interested look, but before he could think of a reply, Sarah made a noisy appearance from the direction of the stables, a mixed pack of dogs at her heels all barking at once.

  “One of those quiet country walks,” David murmured as they set off down the drive.

  James was amused by Sarah’s tactics. She was coolly friendly to David, but deferred to James in any discussion and kept most of her chatter for him. David was delicately in disgrace, and it wasn’t until after lunch that she allowed him to be alone with her, and took him off to the barn which James had turned into a playroom that summer, to play ping-pong with him.

  James and Peronel were sitting in a pleasant Sunday afternoon torpor over the library fire when they heard the sound of a car on the gravel outside and presently the front-door bell rang.

  “If this is the Bollard family come to call I shall scream,” said James emphatically.

  But quite unexpectedly it was Clare who was shown into the room, and behind her, framed in the doorway, was Mick Fennick’s broad figure.

  Clare said with a charming air of apology:

  “Do forgive us for bursting in on you unheralded, Jim, but Mick had a visit to make in Brighton, and I’ve always wanted to see Fallow.”

  Peronel, stretched like a cat in her chair, surveyed Clare’s tall figure and reflected that she wore her clothes well. They might be unpaid for, but Clare went everywhere. She was a good advertisement Peronel’s shrewd gaze went from her to Mick, now shaking hands with James. Was it Clare, trying to pick up the threads of her old relationship with James, who had inspired the visit, or was it Mick, attracted by a possible fresh conquest in Sarah?

  She heard James say, “Do sit down, both of you. Tea will be along in half an hour,” and knew he wasn’t pleased.

  Clare looked round the room with her grave appraising stare.

  “But it’s charming, Jim,” she said with surprise. “I’d always heard the house was dreadful, but what could be nicer than this?”

  “The library was always its best room,” James replied. “The rest of the house is pretty mixed—stained glass and pitch pine. But we’ve got rid of a lot of the junk.”

  “I wonder you don’t sell it and buy something really delightful. Do you remember that charming little Queen Anne house we saw in—” She suddenly bit her lip, and her eyes were apologetic.

  “Yes,” James said kindly, seeing her embarrassment. “It was nice, wasn’t it? Perhaps one day I’ll get rid of Fallow.”

  He remembered very well the little period house which Clare’ had set her heart on when they were engaged. It had been the cause of one of their many quarrels.

  Mick said: “Where’s the charming ward? I’ve a piece of good news for her.”

  “Mick has turned over a nice little investment for Sarah,” Clare said quickly. “It’ll help pay for all those extravagant things Peronel persuaded you to buy.”

  “I didn’t find Sarah needed much persuading,” Peronel remarked dryly, “and at any rate her credit’s good.”

  If Clare had ideas of making trouble in that direction, he’d soon call her bluff.

  “I’m sure it is darling,” said Clare gently. “The child has a rich guardian now. It must be nice, Jim, to have someone as pretty as Sarah to spend your money on. We were very much taken with her that evening, weren’t we Mick?”

  Peronel smiled. So that was to be Clare’s line. Get at James through his ward. Peronel was no more feline than most women whose livelihood consists in catering for their own sex, but she had no illusions about feminine approach either. Well, good luck to Clare. If she succeeded in hooking James for the second time she was not as stupid as she appeared.

  Sarah and David came in from the barn and Sarah greeted Mick with surprise and obvious pleasure. She shook hands with Clare with more reserve, and during tea, Peronel drew mild amusement from watching both Sarah’s and Sophie’s reactions to the newcomer. Sophie, already scenting the beginnings of a patched-up romance in the sudden appearance of Mrs. Rosenheim, talked a great deal and was particularly attentive. Sarah, on the other hand, watched her with a guarded expression and said very little, and several times Peronel caught her looking a little anxiously at James.

  After tea Clare asked to be shown the house, and Sarah and James dutifully bore her and Mick away for a tour, David, left alone with Peronel and Sophie, remarked humorously:

  “I think we must be among those present.”

  “We three,” said Sophie comfortably, “can just have a cosy chat before they come back again. Tell me, Miss Chase, was Mrs. Rosenheim very cut up by her husband’s death?”

  “She was much more cut up by her husband’s will,” said Peronel, and David mocked: “Me-ow!”

  “They say,” said Sophie, her eyes round and childish, “he left her without a penny. How shocking! She’s such a very beautiful woman.”

  In the hall, Sarah was pointing out Otto to Mick, one eye on the drawing-room door behind which Clare’s and James’s voices could be heard.

  “You should have come down yesterday,” she said, looking at Mick’s fair, good-looking face approvingly. “We had a bit of a party.”

  “Well, I’ve brought you a nice surprise,” he said promptly. “Th
at hundred pounds of yours has doubled itself, so I sold out for you. Here’s the cheque.”

  Sarah took the scrap of paper and regarded it with reverent eyes.

  “As easy as that?” she said,

  “All from an original start of ten pounds,” he laughed. “When are you going to try your luck again? You could make a nice bit of pin money for yourself at the tables.”

  Sarah’s eyes brightened; she had been longing to play again; then her face clouded.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “I had rather a rating from J.B. after the last time. He has some awful scunner on gambling, I’m not sure why. He also seems to have a scunner on you. He said I wasn’t to go out with you.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Mick said, shrugging his broad shoulders, “half the parents in the country have forbidden their young daughters to go out with me! I suppose it’s my unfortunate marriages, but, after all, we all make mistakes, don’t we?”

  “Of course,” said Sarah indignantly. “And I think it’s very unfair to label people. I’ve been labelled myself in this place, so I know.”

  “My dear,” he said with his charming half-smile, “anyone attractive gets labelled in this world. To a certain extent it’s self-preservation on the part of the others.”

  Sarah looked at him and inwardly agreed. Mick was a very attractive man. His wives had probably been awful, and someone who didn’t care much for Mick had been telling tales to J.B.

  “You’ll be coming up to Town again before long, won’t you?” he asked, and resolved to drop Peronel a gentle hint. He knew he was valuable to Peronel. He sent her a lot of customers.

  “Oh, sure to be,” Sarah said absently.

  “We’ll run into each other one of these days,” he told her, “and then you’ll make another hundred and we’ll invest that, and so on, until before you know where you are you’ll be an independent young woman.”

  That would be nice, Sarah thought with satisfaction. Money made an enormous difference. No more going to the G.I. for an advance on the quarterly allowance. Parties she could throw herself—in fact, independence.

  James and Clare came out of the drawing-room and went into James’s study, and Sarah heard Clare say: