by Sara Seale
“I suppose we all want what we haven’t got,” she said. “When I lived in the orphanage I used to imagine myself in a castle with grand rooms and lands and serfs and, of course, Prince Charming thrown in, and you, who were brought up to this, would rather be an orphan!”
“Don’t you like your dream-come-true, then? Of course, Father isn’t anything like Prince Charming, but you can’t have everything,” said Nonie practically. “Now, Uncle Rory’s my idea of Prince Charming. Why couldn’t you have waited for him?”
“Because your father asked me first, I suppose,” Harriet answered.
“Well, I’m glad he married you and not Cousin Samantha,” Nonie said, and Harriet felt herself whisked back with unexpected discomfort on to dangerous ground.
“Your cousin was only recently widowed, I understand, so there was hardly any likelihood of that,” she said, knowing that she sounded prim, but Noni, however her childish instincts had led her to recognise the attraction which once and perhaps still existed between her father and her cousin, accepted the explanation without argument.
“Only—” she said “—there’s a queer sort of feeling when they’re together, as if they sort of hated each other, but Uncle Rory says that often means the opposite.”
Harriet fell silent, watching the moon come up from behind Slieve Rury. A door on the terrace behind them opened, letting out a soft flood of lamplight, and Duff’s voice called:
“Harriet? Are you still out there?”
They got up and walked back to the house, and Duff, recognising his daughter’s small figure, said with surprise:
“I didn’t know you were out there, too, Nonie. What have the pair of you been up to, leaving our guest alone and unsupported?” he said, and spoke with the light inconsequence he would have displayed towards any casual visitor.
“Has Cousin Samantha gone?” Nonie asked in her usual tones of cool withdrawal, and when her father nodded, said: “Good!” with unflattering relief at the guest’s departure, and ran into the house and upstairs to her own domain.
Duff stood aside to allow Harriet to enter, then closed the windows and stood looking at her with a rather sombre expression.
“I hope Samantha didn’t hurt you with any flippant remarks about orphans,” he said, and she took off her coat and threw it on a chair.
“No,” she replied. “She didn’t make any comment as far as I can remember except to say that it explained things—meaning your marriage, presumably. I’m sorry if I blurted out the truth without thinking.”
“For heaven’s sake! Do you imagine I’m ashamed of your upbringing?” he exclaimed. “If the question had ever arisen I would have been the first to acknowledge my debt to orphanages in public.”
“Well, that was very nicely spoken,” Harriet said, and he gave her a quick, puzzled look.
“Has something upset you?” he asked. “Nonie—has she been difficult?”
“Nothing’s upset me, and Nonie’s been particularly kind. She’s a lonely child, I think.”
“I know she is; she often makes me feel guilty, but I don’t seem to be able to get through to her.”
“Agnes says the little girl dotes on you,” Harriet ventured.
“Agnes, like most of her class, has her own unshakable conceptions of correct filial love and respect. It would seem that you, too, Harriet, pay too much attention to servants’ gossip. Don’t try meddling with matters you don’t understand,” he said, and she wondered if that was a tacit warning not only against interference with his relations with his daughter, but in such other relationships he might be considering.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THAT night marked another milestone in Harriet’s growth to maturity. The bustle and preparations which filled the remaining days before Christmas allowed little time for introspection, but she was aware of change in all their relationships, not least of a change in herself. She could see Samantha now for what she was, a dangerously attractive woman who could afford to be tolerant towards an insignificant little bride whose negligible stature would scarcely inconvenience her, and she could see herself as Duff must see her, a guileless child with her head filled with romantic nonsense.
She did not blame him for still desiring something which he had thought to put out of his life, for that was human nature; she did not even blame Samantha for refusing to be dismissed, but she did blame her own lack of sense in accepting so heedlessly a proposition which, for her, could only lay up heartbreak and disillusion.
Oh, well, she told herself practically, that time was not yet, and there were unexpected compensations. Nonie, since their strange little interlude by the lough, had seemed to hold out tentative offers of friendship; even the fastidious Kurt, having allowed her to extract a thorn from one of his pads took to following her about, and Rory, that lighthearted charmer indirectly responsible for all that had happened since that summer day’s brief idyll, was an unfailing source of comfort and something more besides. He flattered outrageously, encouraged in her an innocent awareness of her sex, and brought the Castle alive with the unaccustomed sounds of laughter and shouting as they went about their preparations.
Duff watched them with an odd feeling of being ostracised in his own home. He knew he had only himself to thank for being left out since he poured cold water on their foolish enthusiasms more often than he tried to enter into the fun, but the unconscious change in Harriet hurt him, just as the change in Nonie had always hurt him when Rory visited them, and for the first time he found himself envying that gift of ease and well-being which his young cousin could so effortlessly communicate to others.
“You’re not losing your heart again to Rory, are you?” he said one evening before dinner when she had called to him from the next room to come and zip her into her dress. That in itself, he reflected, was a thing she would never have done a week or so ago.
“But of course I am! Rory could steal any woman’s heart by simply remembering she is one,” she said, so accustomed now to the sort of answer Rory would expect and understand that she forgot for a moment how such a reply would sound to Duff.
He zipped up the dress none too gently, and swung her round to face him.
“And that, I suppose, was a dig at me,” he said a trifle grimly, and her eyes widened.
“I didn’t mean it as a dig, it just slipped out.”
“I think you did. Don’t let young Rory’s bit of blarney turn your head, will you?”
“My head isn’t easily turned. I was brought up in a hard school,” she said, and he smiled down at her reluctantly, finding this attempt at sophistication both touching and rather charming.
“You may have been brought up in a hard school, my dear, but I don’t think it taught you much in the way of toughness,” he said, and she lowered her eyes, looking up at him through her lashes, wishing she knew the right way to charm just one pretty speech from him.
“I’m tougher than you think, and perhaps I’ll need to be,” she said, thinking of that overheard conversation, and could not know that in the light of his recent knowledge he guessed her thoughts, which accounted for the roughness in his voice when he next spoke.
“Don’t go building up more fancies out of things only half understood,” he said, and his hands on her shoulders tightened as if he had a barely controlled urge to shake her, and she found herself blinking with the old nervous trick she could not control when he consigned her, figuratively speaking, to the schoolroom.
“No, Duff,” she said from long habit, and he did give her a little shake then.
“Well, don’t look at me as if I was about to haul you over the coals like a child!” he exclaimed, and she pushed a disordered strand of hair out of her eyes.
“But that’s how you do treat me—like a child,” she told him gently. “That’s how you want to see me.”
“That’s how it’s best for me to see you—for a time,” he said ambiguously, “but don’t imagine for that reason that I’m unaware of what goes on around me.”
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br /> If it was a warning that Rory’s blatant attentions did not please him overmuch, she did not take it seriously, for there was nothing to stop him making a few mild overtures himself if he had a mind to.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked, ignoring his last words. His kisses had been rare of late, for he had abandoned the nightly ritual downstairs since Rory’s arrival, presumably because it might look odd to the casual observer, and he did not always remember to remedy the omission when he came upstairs to bed.
“No, I’m hanged if I will!” he replied with such unexpected repudiation that she felt both alarmed and much abashed at having embarrassed him.
“I’m s-sorry ...” she stammered, “I wasn’t trying to—to flirt with you or something.”
His ugly face twisted in a wry grimace and he patted her on the shoulder with an air of dismissal.
“I’m sure you weren’t, Harriet,” he said, going back to his own room, adding as he closed the door between than: “You might try it some time.”
She was so surprised that she stood stock still for a moment with her mouth open. The thought of trying to flirt with a husband who behaved more like an impatient schoolmaster than a man with any notions of dalliance had never occurred to her, and if it had, she wouldn’t have known how to begin. She went down to dinner in a thoughtful mood, resolving to ask Rory’s more experienced advice on the subject, but the result was not happy.
“You want to know how to flirt?” Rory said, his voice suitably grave, but his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, you haven’t been doing too badly for a beginner.”
“You mean I’ve been flirting with you? Was it obvious?”
“Obvious to Duff, I wouldn’t mind betting.”
“Oh!”
“Has he been registering displeasure?”
“Not exactly. He just said something rather odd.”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised! If it’s Cousin Duff you want to try your hand on, you need a few more lessons. Come here.”
She went to him obediently, just as she would have as obediently gone to Duff, and was unprepared for the suddenness with which he caught her in his arms and began kissing her. He had kissed her before, in a lighthearted cousinly fashion, but this was different; this was the way of a lover, she thought, the way she had wanted from Duff instead of those avuncular pecks he afforded her when he remembered.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for the past week ... You’re so sweet ... so ignorant of what you invite with your absurd bids for advice ...” he was murmuring, and she began to feel anxious.
“Rory, please...” she whispered, and just as he released her, Duff walked into the room.
He stood for a moment, surveying them in silence, observing, with a certain savage pleasure, Harriet’s undisguised look of guilt which gave the lie to Rory’s unabashed jauntiness, then said with deceptive mildness:
“You seem to have misconstrued my suggestion upstairs, Harriet. Shall we go and eat?”
“Duff, you don’t understand. I was only trying—” Harriet began, but Rory placed a warning hand on her shoulder.
“Never explain, never apologise, my sweet, it puts you in the wrong at once,” he said. “A cousinly embrace hardly comes amiss, old boy, if a girl is in need of a little consolation.”
“I hardly think the matter’s sufficiently important to incur Agnes’ wrath at keeping dinner waiting. Shall we go in?” Duff said, and Rory, an arm round Harriet, ushering her out of the room, observed in passing:
“The king-of-the-castle brush-off—the point is taken.” For Harriet it was an extremely uncomfortable meal. She found herself making idiotic remarks from pure nervousness, demanding to know what kept the carol-singers from the Castle, and whether there would be snow on Christmas Day.
Duff replied with indifference that carol-singers had long ago given up coming as far as the Castle and couldn’t be expected to know that this year was different from any other, and Rory hardly made her second question sound any more sensible by answering extravagancy:
“Of course, Princess! The fairy godmother will wave her wand on the last stroke of midnight and you will find a white world in the morning. You’re very like Cinderella, aren’t you?”
“King Cophetua and the beggar maid, more likely,” she snapped back with unaccustomed tartness, because she was annoyed with herself for inviting such nonsense, and saw the dark unfathomable look Duff sent her across the table.
“That,” he observed with mild distaste, “was rather an unnecessary remark, don’t you think?”
“Oh, dear!” she sighed when, the meal finished, he took himself off to his study leaving them rather pointedly to the snug and each other’s company, “I never seem to learn the right way. I’d thought upstairs before dinner—but now everything’s gone wrong again.”
“And what happened upstairs before dinner, if one might ask?” Rory enquired from his comfortable position in Duff’s favourite armchair.
“No, you might not,” she replied a trifle coolly. “And you didn’t help matters by that ridiculous little exhibition.”
“You might be wrong at that, you know. It does no harm to ginger up a wavering resolution with a few well-timed hints,” he said, and she looked outraged.
“If,” she said, “you were putting on an act to—to make me appear attractive to Duff, you can save your good deeds in the future.”
He was out of his chair in one lithe movement and kneeling beside her, his face contrite and a little rueful.
“No act, I assure you, Princess, and my essays in making love have never been altruistic,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve any idea how delightful and unspoilt you are—how provocative, that innocence of yours can be ...”
Uriah suddenly barked and sprang across the room, making them both jump, and Samantha’s voice said from the doorway:
“Since when did you find innocence provocative, darling? I do apologise, Harriet, for interrupting at the wrong moment, but I’ve never got out of the habit, I’m afraid, of walking in unannounced.”
Rory had got to his feet, for once looking slightly sheepish at being discovered on his knees, and Harriet had risen politely.
“If we’d known you were coming we’d have waited dinner,” she said.
“How kind of you, darling, but I only came on a sudden impulse to give Duff his Christmas present.”
“Aren’t you coming for lunch on Christmas Day, then?”
“But of course. I just thought I’d like to deliver my small gift in private. So embarrassing, sometimes, being obliged to open one’s presents in public, don’t you think?”
“It would depend, I imagine, on what the present consists of,” Harriet said with an unruffled coolness which made Samantha raise her eyebrows.
“How sophisticated you sound all of a sudden, honey,” she said. “My humble offering has nothing questionable about it, I assure you—I was just claiming the privilege of old friends who enjoy the personal touch in those trivial exchanges of the season. Where’s Duff?”
“In his study,” Harriet replied, catching out of the tail of her eye the very comprehensive expression on Rory’s face.
“Then I’ll leave you to your pleasant tete-a-tete, and won’t disturb you by coming back. Duff will see me out when I’ve said by little piece,” Samantha said, and blowing an airy kiss to them both went out and shut the door.
“And Samantha’s little piece will consist of rather more than seasonal greetings, I don’t doubt. She’ll make trouble for you, Harriet,” Rory said, but Harriet thought he looked smug rather than contrite.
“There’s been enough trouble from silly unimportant things. What do you suppose her humble offering is—a jewel-encrusted cigarette case or diamond cuff links?” Harriet said rather crossly, and he gave her a quizzical glance.
“It’s the silly, unimportant things that usually are responsible for trouble,” he said. “You were remarkably cool, Harriet. Aren’t you a tiny bit afraid of the very determi
ned Mrs. Dwight?”
She considered a moment, her eyes grave and a little troubled under the straight, fair fringe.
“No,” she said then, “I think I’m more afraid of Duff. I wouldn’t, you see, have much to argue about if he wants us both.”
“What a very curious observation for a young bride to make,” said Rory slowly, his eyes and his twitching eyebrows inviting further explanation, but she just smiled at him, looking suddenly tired and rather plain.
“Yes, isn’t it? I think I’ll put Uriah out and go to bed, if you wouldn’t mind. Tell Duff not to disturb me when he comes up, will you?” she said, congratulating herself on the implied assumption of conjugality she left behind her as she called to the dog and said goodnight.
The weather turned very much colder in the night and gave promise of the snow Harriet had hoped for. She did not know why she had placed so much faith in the power of snow to transform Clooney and everyone in it into a merry Christmas card of laughter and goodwill, but she was beginning to think that even the miracle of a land wrapped in sparkling whiteness on the morrow would not bring the spirit of Christmas into the Castle.
She and Duff met only briefly at breakfast. He made no mention of Samantha’s visit, nor of the nature of her present, and Harriet did not like to ask.
She tried once to refer to last night’s little scene with Rory, hoping to make him understand what had occasioned it, but he cut her short with the firm retort that he was not interested in excuses, if that was what she intended, and he would be out to lunch.
Harriet’s optimism was too great a part of her nature to be quenched for long, so when she found there were still some oddments of forgotten shopping left over from the last visit to Knockferry, and Rory suggested they might lunch there since Duff was going to be out, the idea appeared delightful; she so seldom went outside the policies that a drive into the town was still a treat. They took Nonie with them, separating at the shops since Nonie was pregnant with secrets and mysterious commitments of her own, and arranged to meet later at the Knockferry Arms.