by Anne Mather
‘John!’ As soon as she saw him, Joanna came towards her fiancé. ‘What are you doing out here?’ She cast an impatient look at Sophie. ‘I thought you two were dancing.’
‘We were.’ John straightened away from the wall while Sophie countered Simon’s unfriendly stare. ‘But we were hot and thirsty. There’s no law against drinking too many Cokes, is there?’
Joanna made a gallant effort to control her annoyance. ‘No. No, of course not.’ She forced herself to look at Sophie again. ‘Are you all right? My inebriated fiancé hasn’t been making a pass at you, I hope.’
Sophie bit her tongue. Then she too managed a sardonic smile. ‘Oh, no. As a matter of fact we were talking about you, Joanna.’ And with an encompassing look at all of them, she walked confidently back into the hall.
Simon caught up with her just inside the door. His fingers gripped her arm tightly and his face was grim and constrained. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he demanded, in a low tone.
Sophie refused to look at him, allowing her eyes to range over the heads of the people nearest to them. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Yes, you do. Going outside with John. How do you think Joanna felt when she found you had both disappeared?’
Sophie focused on him. ‘I really don’t care.’
Simon’s jaw was taut. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Perhaps I’m trying to get my own back.’
Simon raised his eyes heavenward. ‘You’re not making sense.’
‘Am I not?’ Sophie tilted her head. ‘I suppose you knew all about me being packed off to boarding school, didn’t you? And the reasons behind it?’
Simon stared at her incredulously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve just explained. You knew why they did it, don’t you? You were taken into their confidence, weren’t you?’
‘Whose confidence?’
Sophie almost stamped her foot. ‘Our parents’ confidence, whose do you think?’
Simon cast an impatient look around them as though to reassure himself that their conversation was not being overheard. ‘Where did you get all this?’
‘From John.’
‘John? What does he know about it?’
‘Everything, apparently.’
‘Then he should keep his mouth shut!’
‘You understand what I’m talking about now, I take it?’
Simon heaved a sigh. ‘It’s all past history.’
‘Is it?’ Sophie drew her arm away from him. ‘I don’t agree.’
‘It’s not important.’
‘Then why was I sent away?’
‘In all probability you’d have gone to boarding school anyway-‘
‘Anyway,’ she echoed bitterly.
‘Well, I don’t know why you’re getting so steamed up about it.’
‘I don’t like the idea of my personal affairs being a matter for conjecture-‘
‘They weren’t.’ Simon stiffled an expletive. ‘And if that’s what John Meredith told you, he’s a liar!’
Sophie sighed. ‘No—o, he didn’t say that exactly,’ she conceded. ‘Oh, all right, let’s forget it, shall we? Dance with me. The group has come back, and I feel like doing something completely outrageous!’
Simon pulled her towards him. ‘Kiss me, then. That should dispel conjecture about you and Rob, once and for all.’
Sophie was tempted, but she pressed her palms against his chest, drawing back. ‘No, Simon,’ she said quietly, shaking her head. ‘You’re too nice to be made use of.’
Towards the end of the evening the Reverend Mr. Evans came up to them at the end of a particularly strenuous session of dancing. He smiled at Sophie and then turning to Simon, said: ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Simon. Would you be prepared to show that collection of slides you took of Devon and Cornwall to my Women’s Guild? Your headmaster told me you’d given a talk to your top junior classes, and he was very impressed. It’s just the sort of thing we need, and it’s so difficult to get interesting speakers. We’ve managed to rope in Mrs. Tarrant before she leaves for Greece, but come the autumn we’ve got nothing to offer.’
Simon glanced humorously at Sophie. ‘Well,’ he hesitated. ‘I suppose I—could. But I’m not a professional speaker, you know.’
‘Mrs. Tarrant?’ Sophie was speaking now. ‘Is that Harriet Tarrant, the historian?’
The vicar nodded. ‘Why, yes. Do you know her, Sophie?’
‘Oh, no.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘But I was reading an article about her in the paper last weekend. I was interested, that’s all. I took Greek at ordinary level and I find her books fascinating.’
‘Would you like to meet her?’ The vicar was clearly disarmed by her enthusiasm.
‘Oh, I would,’ Sophie nodded.
‘Come with me, then. She’s over here somewhere. When she’s at home, she often attends my little gatherings.’
Sophie raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Simon and he followed her and the vicar across the hall to where several older people were sitting in a group, talking.
Most of them Sophie knew by sight through her father’s profession, but a plump, trouser-suited figure with a coil of mousy grey hair was unfamiliar.
‘Harriet,’ said Mr. Evans, attracting her attention, ‘there’s someone here who would like to meet you— Sophie Kemble. Doctor Kemble’s daughter.’
The purple-clad figure rose to her feet and excusing herself from the others she joined the vicar and his two companions.
‘How nice,’ she enthused, when introductions were over, ‘to find someone—some young person, that is— who understands Greek. Nowadays, youngsters seem to gravitate towards modern languages — French and German and Italian — and forget all about Latin and Greek, the classical languages.’
‘I’m not much good at Latin, I’m afraid,’ confessed Sophie, smiling.
‘But you like Greek. And you’re interested in mythology, eh?’ Harriet glanced at the vicar and then back at Sophie again. ‘You’re not looking for a job, by any chance, are you?’
Sophie was taken aback, and it was Simon who answered for her. ‘Sophie is going to university next year.’
‘Are you? Are you really?’ Harriet stared at her with piercing blue eyes. ‘And what do you plan to do until then?’
Sophie lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘I—er—I haven’t given the matter a lot of thought.’
‘Then perhaps you should.’ Harriet was nothing if not forthright. ‘I’m prepared to offer you a job. I need a translator. Someone who knows more than kalimera and parakalo.’
Sophie looked questioningly at Simon and he said: ‘I don’t think my—that is, Sophie’s father expects her to take a job, Mrs. Tarrant.’
‘Why not? She needs the money, doesn’t she?’
Sophie interposed: ‘It’s very kind of you to offer-‘
‘Nonsense, it’s not kind at all.’ Harriet Tarrant flexed her shoulder muscles. ‘I need a translator, and it seems to me you’d be ideal for the job.’
Sophie licked her lips. ‘And—what would it entail, Mrs. Tarrant?’
Harriet thrust her square hands into the pockets of her jacket, warming to her ‘subject. ‘It would entail spending half the year in Greece, for a start. I prefer to work there. I allow the atmosphere to absorb me. Then I have two researchers—Greeks, you understand —and they have been gathering material for me while I’ve been over here lecturing. When I go back there’ll be a mound of material to read and evaluate, articles to translate, correspondence to deal with-‘
‘I don’t type, Mrs. Tarrant.’
‘Nonsense, anyone can type.’ Harriet dismissed her protest with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘I don’t want a secretary, Sophie. A secretary with only commercial experience and an aptitude for typing would be of no use to me. No, what I need is someone who knows the legends, who can appreciate the precarious balance between fact and fantasy, and most of all, someone who can read and speak the langu
age.’
It was a great temptation, Sophie couldn’t deny that, even while she accepted that to put so many hundreds of miles between herself and Robert would tear her emotions to shreds. But sooner or later he would accept an overseas assignment and by then he and Emma would be married and his wife might go with him … The prospect sent a prickling of goose-lumps over her skin. How would she stand the knowledge that they were living together, sleeping together…
Noticing how pale Sophie had suddenly become, Simon said: ‘I think perhaps we ought to be going, Sophie.’
The concern was eloquent in his tones and Harriet Tarrant’s lips thinned. ‘Well, Sophie?’ she challenged. ‘Do you want to think about it? I can give you a few days if you’d like to discuss the matter with your parents.’
Sophie hesitated. ‘I—I would like to think about it,’ she admitted, ignoring Simon’s disapproval. ‘Can I ring you? When I’ve come to a decision?’
‘Of course.’
While Harriet wrote out her address and telephone number the vicar distracted Simon by confirming the promise he had gleaned from him earlier, saying how delighted the Women’s Guild would be to have their first speaker for the new season already lined up.
But once they had put several feet between themselves and the others Simon turned on Sophie angrily. ‘What do you mean by telling that woman you’d think over her proposition? You can’t accept it, you know you can’t!’
Sophie lifted her face up to his. ‘Why not?’
Simon glared angrily about him. ‘I don’t want you to. Good lord, it was bad enough knowing Rob had - ‘ He broke off and then went on: ‘I don’t want some oily Greek laying his hands on you!’
‘Oh, Simon!’
‘Don’t ‘Oh, Simon’ me! Besides, your father will never agree.’
‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that.’ Sophie sounded almost cynical. ‘Isn’t this exactly the sort of opportunity which will appeal to him? Something to remove my disruptive influence from Robert’s orbit?’
‘Robert!’
Simon spoke his brother’s name contemptuously, and suddenly Sophie felt incredibly weary. The noise of the electric guitars had become an increasing assault on her hearing, and a dull ache was spreading from her nape to the crown of her head.
‘I think I would like to go home, Simon,’ she said quietly, massaging her temples with her fingertips.
Simon looked as though he was about to protest and then with a sigh he nodded.
Indicating that she should follow him, he began to force a way through the press of people near the door. John Meredith’s crowd were there, but Sophie avoided visual confrontation. However, Emma had seen them, and she pushed her way towards them.
‘Are you leaving?’
Simon said they were and Emma gave a sigh of relief.
‘Oh, good. I’ll come with you, then. I’ve had enough. The noise…’ She shook her head expressively. ‘Besides, it’s not the same without Robbie.’
Sophie made some noncommittal reply and went to get her wrap from the cloakroom. No matter what Simon said, leaving Conwynneth was not such a bad idea.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN the event, the decision whether or not to accept Harriet Tarrant’s offer had to be postponed. The day following the dance at the village hall, Sophie awakened with a streaming cold, and by lunch time it was apparent that she should never have left her bed. Her father ordered her back there when he came in for his midday meal, and by late afternoon her temperature was well over a hundred. She spent the following week in bed, sick and feverish, and totally incapable of making any plans for her immediate future.
Naturally, although sympathetic towards her condition, Simon was delighted at the setback. Apparently uncaring that he might catch Sophie’s germs, he spent hours in her room, reading and talking to her, and generally making her feel less isolated than she undoubtedly would have done. The only flaw in their relationship was John Meredith, who, having not been informed of her indisposition, called the evening after the dance to take Sophie to dinner. When he discovered that she was ill, he started enquiring about her every day, and sent masses of flowers to fill her room with their perfume. The Kembles approved of his attentions no more than did Simon, but short of being rude there was nothing they could do.
Emma was leaving at the weekend, and she came in on Sunday morning before she left to say goodbye. Simon was driving her back to London and she was already wearing her coat when she came to Sophie’s room. Circumstances being what they were, this was the first time the two girls had been alone together, and in her weakened condition Sophie felt in no state to sustain a conversation.
However, Emma was clearly loath to risk contracting any kind of infection, and hovering near the door, said: ‘I hope you’ll be up and about again soon, Sophie. It’s a shame being in bed when the weather’s so lovely. Still, you have got some beautiful flowers, haven’t you?’
Sophie plucked at the coverlet. ‘I’m sure Daddy will allow me up next week.’
‘I expect he will.’ Emma fingered the door handle. ‘And you do have your holiday to look forward to, don’t you? Brittany. It should be rather nice. Robbie and I may come and join you all for a few days.’
She smiled, and Sophie concentrated hard on the eyelet stitching of the bedspread. It was such a smug smile, but perhaps she, Sophie, only saw it like that. She chided herself. Emma was a nice girl. It was she who distorted her image with her own frustrations.
Forcing herself to look up, she said: ‘Have you enjoyed your holiday?’
Emma moved her shoulders in a dismissing motion. ‘I suppose so. There’s not much to do here, though, is there?’
Sophie looked towards her windows. ‘I suppose it depends on what one enjoys doing.’
Emma’s smile became a little fixed. ‘Do I detect a note of censure?’
Sophie’s head jerked round. ‘No. No, of course not. I only meant — well, there’s plenty to do if you enjoy walking and climbing — and playing golf and tennis.’
‘Yes.’ Emma sounded slightly bored. ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not the outdoor type.’
Sophie was tempted to ask what type she was, but decided against it. It would sound sarcastic, and the last thing she wanted was to enter into any kind of verbal fencing with Emma. She simply wasn’t strong enough. So she said: ‘I suppose living in London you tend to rely on artificial entertainments.’
It was an innocent enough remark, but Emma didn’t choose to take it that way, ‘What do you mean?’ she enquired curtly.
Sophie sought for suitable words. ‘Why, I only meant that living alone you must enjoy the excitement —the company that can be found in theatres, restaurants, that sort of thing.’
‘But I don’t live alone,’ retorted Emma coldly. ‘Oh, I realise you’d like to think so. But the fact is that when Robbie is there we don’t need anyone else. Our own – company — is enough.’
Sophie swallowed hard, aware of a heightening of tension all over her body that brought her out in a cold sweat. What was Emma saying? Did it matter? She mustn’t get involved…
‘I didn’t mean—that is-‘ she began, but Emma interrupted her, her smile quite disappeared now.
‘Oh, yes, you did. Do you think I’m blind, Sophie? Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know how you feel about Robbie? I’ve seen the way you look at him, the way you speak to him – ‘
‘Emma! Emma! Are you nearly ready?’
Simon’s voice drifted up the stairs spelling blessed release for Sophie. Emma stepped on to the landing. ‘Yes, I’m ready, Simon,’ she called. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ She turned back into the bedroom. ‘Do hurry and get better, Sophie, won’t you? I’m expecting you to be my chief bridesmaid, you know!’ And with her usual cloying smile she was gone, her heels echoing down the stairs.
Simon couldn’t understand why Emma’s departure should have had such a singularly depressing effect on Sophie. He had expected her to improve rapidly once the other g
irl was out of the house, but it was not so. Sophie was more morose than ever.
During the following week her naturally healthy body reasserted itself, however, and inevitably by the weekend she was physically well enough to get up and about again. A spell of warm weather made the garden an ideal place for convalescence, and Sophie spent hours lying listlessly on a lounger, listening to her transistor radio.
Simon chivvied her for her lack of energy, but Doctor Kemble insisted that the rest would do her good.
The following Tuesday morning, John Meredith put in an appearance. Laura was loath to admit him, until he explained that he had a message for Sophie from Harriet Tarrant.
The proposal that Sophie might accept Harriet Tarrant’s invitation to work for her for a year had been shelved for the period of Sophie’s illness, and as Laura’s only knowledge of it had come from Simon she was not enthusiastic that any decision should be made without first consulting her husband. Sophie herself had said nothing, but then she had hardly been in a condition to do so. Laura’s initial reaction had been one of approval, but she had tempered this with the realisation that her husband might see it differently and therefore it would have to be approached with caution. She had intended discussing it with him for the past few evenings, but somehow the right moment had not presented itself. And now here was John Meredith with a message which might convey anything.
With a faint smile, she invited him into the lounge and went to find her stepdaughter.
Sophie was not yet dressed when Laura entered her bedroom. She was seated at the vanity unit in her cotton wrapper, brushing her hair. Her eyes widened at her stepmother’s unexpected appearance, and she looked at her expectantly.
Laura closed the door. ‘Oh, John’s here,’ she said, by way of an explanation.
Sophie rose to her feet. ‘Is he?’
‘Yes.’ Laura rubbed her palms together. ‘He has a message for you. From Harriet Tarrant.’
Sophie had deliberately not thought about Harriet Tarrant’s offer for the past few days. It was too appealing in her weakened state, and she had no wish to do something on the spur of the moment which she would live to regret. But she also knew that Laura was waiting for some sort of explanation.