by Sara Seale
“Yes,” said Sarah defiantly, “but she’s not going to make J.B. miserable all over again if I can help it. I—I’d marry him myself rather than let her have him.”
“What a fate for the poor man!” she said lightly. “Now, Sarah, I’m afraid I must turn you out. I must see how they’re getting on in the workroom and then we’ve got fittings for the rest of the day. What a life! By the way, have you got any money to play with this afternoon?”
“About five pounds. I thought Mick would be there to stake me.”
Peronel shrugged expressively.
“Well, I suppose I’m a fool, but I’ll lend you fifty, and if you have any luck, pay off your debt to Mick.”
“Oh, Peronel, you angel!” Sarah hugged her gratefully. “I feel my luck’s in today. The coat will, do the trick, and then I’ll pay everyone back.”
But the coat didn’t do the trick. Sarah lost Peronel’s fifty pounds in less than half an hour, and for the first time she was glad to get out of the place which up till now had only provided excitement for her.
With Mick standing at her elbow, and the pile of chips steadily mounting, there had been fascination in the spinning ball, the white hands moving swiftly over the green table. The hard artificial light catching the facets of jewels had been as stimulating as the naphtha flares at Heronsgill fair. But now, as she made way for a newcomer, and stood irresolutely watching the play, she was conscious of a curious revulsion. There was a frightening quality in the faces of the men and women round the table. Boredom which perhaps concealed desperation, desperation itself in a few, and in all an implacable greed matching the greedy grasping hands. Sarah noticed one young girl whose luck was having a run. Her fair, pretty face was flushed and horribly intent as she snatched up her winnings. There was a fever of excitement about her which was rather horrifying, and Sarah watching her, saw her suddenly in years to come, her soft childish face a hard mask like the others. She’s not much older than I am, Sarah thought, and quickly following on: Do I look like that when I’m playing?
She slipped away and in the street was grateful for the raw November air which made her shiver after the overheated atmosphere she had just left. It was beginning to get dusk, but she pulled her coat more closely round her and turned into Hyde Park.
She walked briskly across the grass, kicking up the rotting masses of sodden leaves as she used to do at Fallow, and thought of that conversation she had had with James when she had asked him why he objected to gambling.
“I suppose because I’ve seen what havoc it can make of people’s lives,” he had answered.
Yes, J.B. had known what those frightening faces had looked like. He had suffered personally from the gambling fever of one man. He had known what he was talking about.
Fog was creeping up through the trees as she reached Kensington Gardens, and she turned back, and cut across the Row to Hyde Park Corner, where she paused irresolutely. She had just enough money for a taxi to Victoria, but she had missed the five-ten back and would have to wait for the six-forty. She felt very tired, remembered that the barman at Hugo’s knew her, and decided to go in and have a drink instead of waiting for over half an hour at the station. She walked down Piccadilly and in at the swing doors of the cheerful little cocktail bar, and saw Mick sitting alone on one of the high stools.
“Hul-lo!” he exclaimed when he saw her. “Have a drink? Sorry about this afternoon, my sweet. I simply couldn’t manage it. How did you make out?”
She wriggled on to a stool beside him and propped weary arms on the bar.
“Rotten,” she said briefly. “I lost over fifty pounds.”
“Bad luck!” he said. “A champagne cocktail on top of that, I think. It’ll soon put you right.”
“Mick”—she turned towards him and he saw how tired she looked—“I want to stop it.”
He regarded her with amusement;
“Stop losing? So do we all,” he laughed. “But that’s just the luck of the thing.”
“No, stop gambling,” she said. “I don’t ever want to play again.”
“Oh, my dear child! Just because you have a run of bad luck! That’s a very poor spirit. Here, drink this up, then I’ll give you another and you’ll feel quite different.”
She sipped her drink gratefully. The bright lights of the bar had suddenly made her feel a little giddy.
“No,” she said. “I want to stop.”
He observed her with interest. It had amused him all these weeks watching that unsuspecting taint coming out in Handley Grey’s daughter, and he had flattered himself that his judgment had been right. The real thing was there. The child hadn’t just been dazzled by beginner’s luck.
“Surely,” he said softly, “you’re not a bad loser after all?”
“It isn’t that. I seemed to see them all differently today. Their faces frightened me, Mick. It was like a dreadful sickness. There was one girl, quite young. She was winning, and I suddenly saw myself in her and in those others in the future. It made me afraid.” She looked at him, saw his light blue eyes watching her a little mockingly, and knew he wouldn’t understand. “You don’t understand?” she faltered.
He laughed.
“My dear Sarah, I understand very well,” he said lightly. “You’ve had a run of bad luck on top of astonishing success. It’s bound to depress you. When you’ve reached my age you’ll learn to be philosophical about chance. If you’re over-anxious the goddess always passes you by. But you mustn’t get your feelings confused with lurid tracts on gambling-hells, you know. I spotted you as the genuine article the first time I saw you at the tables.”
“Did you?” said Sarah, and tried hard to clarify her ideas, “Well, don’t you see, in that case, perhaps I’m like someone who drinks. If I go on with it I won’t be able to stop, and then I’ll land myself in a mess.”
“You’re talking like a social reformer,” laughed Mick. “Here, lap up your second drink—you seem to need it.”
The champagne was doing her good. She began to argue with him, more firmly now, but presently she realised he wasn’t really listening, only watching her with amused interest.
“You know, you’re an extraordinarily attractive child,” he told her. “I like the earnest way in which you try to convince me. I haven’t taken in a word because your little face is so intriguing me. Would you marry me if I was free?”
He had successfully side-tracked her.
“Aren’t you free?” she asked. “I thought—”
“My second divorce unfortunately never went farther than the nisi stage. My wife wouldn’t apply for the absolute and up I till now I’ve found it quite convenient.”
“Oh,” said Sarah rather blankly. She was not sure what romantic notions she had been cherishing about Mick. He had been a new and exciting experience for her and she had certainly been guilty of imagining herself the reforming influence in his life at some vague future date. But if he was still married—
“It was only an academic question,” he said, grinning. “You’re much too young for me really, but it would be great fun to teach you all about life.”
That, if Sarah had realised it, had always been Mick’s weakness—teaching the young about life. But she only felt his undeniable attraction, the attraction of extreme experience and the fact that as far as James was concerned, he was forbidden fruit.
“Would you come away with me, I wonder?” he asked casually. “I find you very exciting, Sarah.”
For some unexplained reason, Sarah had a mental picture of Pinto’s transformed face thrust into hers, and shuddered. Were all men the same really? David underneath that charming bantering manner, even James? She gave herself a little shake. Dear J.B. was outside all this. After all, she was just his ward.
“That was curious reaction,” Mick said, watching her face. “Instant revulsion, which was unflattering, then immediate reassurance, which was better. Wouldn’t you like me to make love to you, Sarah?”
“I don’t know,” she said, a
nd thought of her own unsophisticated efforts with James the night of his arrival.
Mick laughed softly.
“One day perhaps I’ll show you,” he said. “In the meantime, my sweet, I must dash. Sorry I can’t give you dinner, but let me have a little more notice the next time you come up. Then we’ll have a very special little dinner and go along and retrieve your fortunes afterwards.”
She sat up very straight on her stool. The cocktails had made her feel a little light-headed, and she remembered that she had eaten only a sandwich for lunch.
“I’m not going to gamble any more,” she said with careful distinctness. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Mick looked enquiring.
“And what about your little debt to me, my sweet? Not that I’m in any hurry, but unless you win it back, how are you going to pay me? Ask the grave guardian for it?”
“How much do I owe you?” asked Sarah, going a little white. He made a face at her.
“I like the grand manner. Oh, about a hundred odd—I don’t remember exactly—but don’t let it worry you. I can wait.”
No need to tell the funny child it was more than double that amount. She might, in her present mood, really find the money from somewhere and pay up. It was as well to have something up his sleeve; he was not ready to lose Sarah yet.
She looked relieved. A hundred pounds was a large sum, and there was Peronel’s fifty today, but she had thought she owed Mick much more.
“I’ll pay you as soon as I can,” she said.
He leaned towards her, saying softly:
“Such utter nonsense between friends. Don’t think any more about it, sweet. Give the tables a rest for a bit, then well soon have you back again in better form than ever. Good night—I’m sorry I’ve got to rush.”
After he had gone, Sarah sat on, nibbling potato crisps. She was aware suddenly that she was hungry, and ate a whole dish of cocktail sundries with the realisation that tiny portions of caviar and smoked salmon didn’t go far towards filling an empty stomach. By this time she had missed the six-forty train, and there would be. nothing for it but to travel on the slow eight-five, which was the next train out. But by the time she reached Victoria the fog had become quite dense. All trains were running late and the eight-five didn’t leave until nearly nine o’clock, when it crawled at a maddening speed for the first twenty miles out of London.
Sarah, sitting wearily in the corner of an empty first-class carriage, supposed vaguely that she should have rung up Fallow and said she was going to be late. In the old days such a thought would never have occurred to her, but J.B. was punctilious over such matters. Dear J.B., she thought affectionately; she should have listened to him long ago. He always knew. The Bakers, Pinto; he had been proved irritatingly right. She wondered if she had the nerve to ask him for a hundred and fifty pounds and give him the explanation he was bound to demand.
Sarah began to feel rather ill. The train was rocking badly and she thought she detected the odd prelude to faintness which she had experienced once or twice lately. She ducked her head instinctively as the wave of nausea seized her, and her last coherent thought was: I’ve always wanted to pull the communication cord.
A long time later it seemed she became aware of someone bending over her. The train had stopped.
“You all right, miss?” asked a voice. Objects came back into focus, and Sarah saw the guard looking in on her anxiously. She blinked in the beam of light which he shone on to her.
“Did I pull the chain?” she asked.
“We’re stopping in a station. I thought you looked queer as I passed,” he told her curiously.
“Where are we?”
“Rockton. Where are you for, miss?”
Rockton. They had been a few minutes from Rockton when the faintness had seized her. She could have been unconscious only for a moment or so.
“Heronsgill,” she said wearily. “It’s the next station, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. You do look bad, miss. Sure you feel all right?”
“Yes, I’m quite all right now. I think I fell asleep,” she said. “What time is it?”
“A quarter to eleven. Fog’s held everything tip. I’ll come along and see you out at Heronsgill.”
The guard slammed the door, still looking worried,. and Sarah pulled herself together and powdered her nose. In the little mirror her face looked ghastly. These brief blackouts were becoming a little frightening. This was the third during the past six weeks. Once Sophie had found her after too hot a bath, and once Pepper had caught her crouched on his pantry floor. She had sworn them both to secrecy. The attacks had been no worse than the first which she had experienced with James at the bathing-pool. But this had been a real blackout and she felt weak and worn out as a result.
It was good to feel the clean country air on her face again as she stepped on to the little platform at Heronsgill. Mist hung over the Downs and there were bands of it on the road as she drove her car homewards, but the drive did her good. She felt almost normal again as she saw the lights of the house through the trees, but she was too tired to put her car away and left it standing in the drive.
She ran up the front steps, but before she had time to open the door it was flung wide by James himself. In the sudden light she could see his face was strained and rather grim. Sophie, still up and dressed, hovered behind him, and Pepper was at the telephone just putting down the receiver.
“What’s the matter?” Sarah asked in a startled voice. “Has anything happened?”
She remembered that she had once asked James if he ever lost his temper, and he had replied: “Not very easily, but when I do, I warn you, I do it thoroughly.” He did it thoroughly now.
He had expected Sarah back on the five-ten train and it was now past eleven. He had long ago made it a rule that she was to ring up if she was going to be late, and he never much liked her driving from the station at night. She was a shocking driver and he was always nervous when she was alone in the car. After nearly five hours of growing anxiety it was the last straw to have her walk in and calmly ask: “Is anything the matter?”
He slammed the door shut and demanded where she had been in a voice she had never heard him use before.
“You knew I went to Town,” she said nervously. “There was a fog and I missed my train. I’m sorry.”
James surveyed her grimly.
“You missed your train!” he said. “As simple as that! Was there any reason why you couldn’t have rung up five hours ago and said so?”
“I missed two trains, as a matter of fact. I’m afraid I didn’t think,” she said, and stared curiously at James. It didn’t occur to her that he had been really worried.
“You didn’t think!” he exclaimed, and as Pepper retired discreetly to his own quarters, the storm broke.
“I suppose it didn’t occur to you that Sophie and I might worry,” he said, and for the first time since she had known him, she heard sarcasm in his voice, “It wouldn’t occur to you that while you are living in my house you at least owe me common courtesy and consideration.” The sarcasm changed to plain anger. “Once and for all, Sarah, it’s got to stop. You’ve been using this house as a hotel for weeks and I won’t have it. If I can’t be sure of what you’re doing and when you’re going to turn up next, you can stay at home.”
“Golly!” said Sarah. “I seem to have stepped on a time fuse. What’s it all about?”
She didn’t mean to be off-hand and aggravating, but James’s attitude completely nonplussed her. He looked at her standing at the foot of the stairs, her face drained of life, exhaustion in every line of her young body. Only her hair and the red fox coat were vivid splashes of colour in the light.
“What have you been doing?” he demanded sharply.
“Seeing people.”
“Who?”
Her head went up.
“J.B., that’s my affair.”
“It’s my affair as well,” said James loudly. “You come back at this hour of t
he night looking completely exhausted, and I want to know what you’ve been doing. Did Peronel persuade you to buy that ridiculous coat or did you fancy yourself as something from Piccadilly?”
The colour flew to Sarah’s face then. She had forgotten about the coat. Another three hundred guineas, and she had said she would pay for it herself!
“I’d already bought it when Peronel saw it,” she shouted. “I think it’s a lovely coat.”
“And you’ve got the bill in your pocket to hand to me, I suppose!”
“James, not so loud,” protested Sophie breathlessly. “The servants will hear.”
“Damn the servants!” he exclaimed. “If they do hear they’ll realise that for once I’m going to be master in my own house. It’s quite ridiculous, this business of a girl of seventeen on the loose, buying fur coats and coming home at all hours of the night looking like a piece of chewed string. I’ve been too easy with you, Sarah, and that’s the whole trouble. From now on it’s going to stop, and this extravagance is going to stop too or I’ll close my account with Peronel.”
“Wow!” remarked Sarah, and grinned suddenly. “If I hadn’t been feeling so tired I would enjoy this. You’re talking just like a Victorian parent, J.B. Just try and stop me, that’s all. I don’t owe you anything. It’s not my fault if you have to pay my bills, and it was your own choice that I lived with you. We never wanted you to stay! We never wanted you at all!”
She turned abruptly and ran quickly up the stairs to her own room.
Rather wearily James turned off the study lights and went into the hall and locked the front door. The house was very quiet, and somewhere a clock struck the half-hour after midnight, as he paused for a moment, listening outside Sarah’s door, then went along to his own room.
Someone had put a fresh log on the dying fire, and the flames lit up the big room, dispelling its usual gloom with moving shadows. James had his hand on the electric-light switch, when he saw Sarah, in her pyjamas, sitting very straight and still on his bed.
“I thought you were never coming,” she said.